


And We All Go Into Hell Together

by cptsuke



Category: Fury (2014)
Genre: Gen, Period Typical Attitudes, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptsuke/pseuds/cptsuke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd wasn't Fury's first gunner but by god, if Grady has any choice in the matter, he'll be their last</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. North Africa

**Author's Note:**

> ive been playing with this damned thing since Fury first started showing, not posting because I refuse to post WIPs (mostly out of fear of never finishing) So its somewhat a labour of love, but mostly half eye burning 2 am conversations about world war 2 military slang and discussing tank specs and throwing IS THIS AN ACCEPTABLE SPECULATION?! questions at my likeminded bros.

Grady hates his gunner.

 

They seem to get along fine enough when they're out of the tank, or just bumbling along the road to whatever shithole command's sending them to next. But the minute they enter battle, Grady and Peters do  _not_  fucking mesh well; like oil and water. Petey, who couldn't let anything go and Grady, who don't get along with anyone.

 

 _I hate you_ , he thinks as the skin of his knuckles catches against harsh steel peeling away to bright blooming red and the hatch slams shut behind shell.

 

 _I fucking hate you_  he thinks in time to the throbbing of his hands.

 

He yell-growls  _CLEAR_  angrily so the asshole knows exactly how he's feeling.

 

"ON THE WAY!" Pete yells back - just as angry - toe pressing down; the tank's barrel snapping back with recoil.

 

Grady don't hear nothing that sounds like a hit, maybe a loud  _chink_  that sounds at most like a glancing ricochet; and Sergeant Collier don't say a thing about a good shot, just a quick word about what he reckons Grady should load next smashed in between his command for tank movement.

 

Grady glares at the heatguard grating that divides him from his gunner; hands moving on autopilot to get the turret loaded as quickly as possible.

 

Collier snaps short commands at Garcia that Grady mostly ignores; half listening because while they ain't for him, it's handy to know which way he's gonna be jolted when the tank changes direction - hard and quick - so he can attempt to brace himself against the tank's harsh jerks and only get thrown against the walls a little.

 

"MaryLou, move your ass, you've got one lining up on you!" He pauses, listening perhaps? Then, "Shit, shit, shit! On our left,  _our_  left, hard stick right Gordo! See if you can get behind her. Pete, fire goddamn it."

 

The Tiger fires - hits something from the sound of it - and an exhaled  _goddamnit_  escapes Collier before he can button that shit up.

 

Grady can't feel the pain in his hands or the bruises, can't really feel nothing but the angry thump of blood in his veins as he grabs another shell; Petey stomps on the trigger before it clears. Grady lets loose every cuss word he's ever known - mangles a few nicer ones til they sound just as offensive - and lashes out; the toe of his boot clipping Petey not nearly hard enough.

 

"Goddammit!"

 

"You fucking do that again, Imma put the next one up your ass!" Grady shouts.

 

"Then be faster, motherfucker!" Pete yells back, before triggering, "ON THE WAY GODDAMMIT!

 

"Love 1-1 is down," Don says quietly, the words still managing to cut over their yelling.

 

 _Better them than me_  overlaps and merges with  _Christ, they were just babies_. He remembers the crew of Love 1-1 - MaryLou - just last night huddled together in the dying light in a way that did nothing to fend off the swift change from godawful hot to teeth chattering cold. They'd looked like a bunch a schoolkids - not one of them old enough to shave regularly - one had been reading a book for christssake.

 

He's angry for how goddamned ineffectual their rounds seem against the Tiger, angry for the relief that floods his system and angry because a tankful of fucking children died so he could feel that relief. They ain't ran into a Tiger before; the Panthers were bad enough but three fucking tanks down and the monster is still going strong. What the fuck were they fucking made out of?

 

Grady wants to punch something, or shoot something, desperately wishes for some helpless German infantry to strafe. But there isn't and he couldn't do that anyway because his job is to load the turret over and over until one or all of them are dead and hope that between the stick, the gun and Top calling the shots, they're the ones that get to live one more goddamned day. So he loads, shooting a glare at Petey, because _swear to god_ he pulls too early again Grady's gonna do the kraut bastards a favor and kill his ass first.

 

"He's coming at you, Don!" 1-3's commander is shouting on the comms, voice not quite panicked; but worry and fear and a million other emotions are hidden in it instead.

 

Collier's voice sounds in his ear but a noise, a bang - louder than Don, louder than the tank's engine, louder than their turret firing - deafens them all; echoing and leaving their ears ringing and  _what the fuck just happened?_

 

Pete don't make a noise, not a fucking whimper. The tank's ruptured - a hole bigger than a fist curling inward like claws reaching, and everyone's ears ringing from the impact - Collier is shouting through the comms, there's blood and bloody bits spattered everywhere and Pete ain't moving. Collier's knees shake beside Grady's shoulder - fear or adrenaline or both, cause they're somehow not a flaming fireball and Grady ain't smart but he ain't  _stupid_  either, he's seen enough of Don's back - but the sergeant keeps upright, legs bowing for a steadier brace.

  
They are  _fucked_. They gotta be.

 

 _I fucking hate you_  Grady thinks, harsh and angry and spiteful; tears of frustration pricking at his goddamned eyes.

 

Red's scrambling up from his seat below, lanky legs tangling up with haste and Grady just sits there with his thumb up his ass because the gun is fucking loaded and he don't got no other use. He wants to roll across, shove Pete's dead ass out the way and fire but he can't cause Red's already halfway there and Gordo's making the goddamned tank rock like trailer in a hurricane trying to keep up with the sergeant's shouting - no,  _commanding_  - directions, trying to keep them from being the next tank with its top popped.

 

He's right where he should be but that don't mean he don't feel all kinds of useless now his gunners down.

 

He wonders if he should stop hating on Petey now he's dead, cause a dead man don't need no ire from no one. But being dead don't change him from being an asshole and now Grady's gotta deal with whatever new - probably a bigger asshole - gunner replaces him. Most like someone just as useless as Petey was, that's gonna get them all   
killed.

 

 _No_ , Grady thinks, psyching himself up to see a new face where Pete's had been all through tank school. Ain't no way no one could be as shit as Pete was. They can't be that unlucky.

 

Red settles into position with a soft ' _Sorry Petey'_ , like he's worried that Pete's gonna complain about him sitting in his seat. Pete and Red got along -  _had_  got along - like a fucking house on fire, Grady remembers, feeling angrier. Ain't shit all he can do about nothing but Red's face is doing a complicated twisty thing, like he knows Pete's dead and he has to keep going, but like all he wants to do is yell and holler at everyone. But he don't, just presses his eye against the sighting and calls out a stuttered "On the way!"

 

The barrel punches back from the recoil and Collier's ducking low; head below the lip of his hatch - his hand to his ear - pressing the speaker closer. He must be hearing something because his head shoots back up out the hatch soon after with an exhale of air that sound like he could almost be - but couldn't possibly be - pleased.

 

"Ha!"

 

Was that a fucking  _laugh_?

 

Did Sergeant Collier just fucking  _laugh_?

 

_He just fucking laughed._

 

Grady wonders what he's seeing that's got him so goddamned amused; ain't nothing funny about a Tiger lining up on them that Grady can see and they were all going to fucking die in  _Africa_  of all the godawful places.

 

"Love 1-4, you got eyes on Love 1-1?-" he pauses for a reply "-Well, it's  _something_. Gordo, bring us round front."

 

The driver makes a questions noise even as he complies with the order. The tank slams backwards, engine labouring loudly, and Grady don't need to see anything to know that they're heading into the Tiger's killzone.

 

Don's still tense, but there's something that sounds like hope in his tone. Fucking  _hope_. Like there's a light at the end of the neverending tunnel of shit they're stuck in.

 

"Gordo, you seeing that?"

 

"Yeah, yeah, I see it,  _ha-ha_ ," Garcia's harsh laugh sounds in Grady's ear, but there isn't a lot of joy in it, just surprise. "It's definitely moving, you think someone...?"

 

He doesn't finish the thought, just kind of trails off into some quiet sounding Mexican, maybe a prayer or some shit.

 

"Get him looking at us, Gordo, hard left stick, get that bastard turned around, I want his ass showing at 1-1 before he notices. Grady - smoke - Red see if you can't blind that cocksucker."

 

Gordo's face shuts down to a blank serious he pulls hard on the levers, making several tonnes of death dealing machine move exactly how he wants it to.

 

Don's voice is a constant buzz in his ear; rapid fire commands, confident in a way that it hadn't been before.

 

Grady wants to know what the fuck they're seeing that could bring about that tone. He itches to check his periscope, but he don't because what's out there won't matter fuck all if Grady don't keep the cannon loaded.

 

A screaming whistle sounds over the loud booming of the sherman's main gun firing. Loud enough to be too close - anywhere in their general direction is too damned close as far as Grady's concerned - but the tank remains whole.

 

Grady hopes whatever Collier's waiting for happens soon, because Tigers don't miss all that much, and now they've got it facing them and he can almost feel their luck running out with their ability to maneuver out of this mess.

 

Another sherman fires, a noise that sounds like a hit -  _fuck please let it be a hit_  - and Don's voice goes quiet, like he's no longer talking to them -  _another, come on, you can do it, another_  - before raising his voice again.

 

"All tanks, fire! Fire! FIRE!"

 

Grady slams a new shell home -  _YOU'RE CLEAR_  - Red fiddles with the aiming, hesitantly and lacking the natural confidence Petey had. The Texan grits his teeth in annoyance, Grady can see him already getting on his own self, like somehow he should be naturally good at something he's probably only vaguely played with once way back in tankschool.

 

"On the way!" He calls, when he gets it situated right.

 

The noise of cannons firing almost drowns out Gordo's, " _You got him, you got him,_ " and finally Don's " _Tank destroyed._ "

 

The pinging of small arms fire sounds and more of Collier's body disappears out the hatch as he opens fire with his machine gun.

 

Grady takes a look now he has the opportunity, watches Don's shots take out some of the escaping Krauts.

 

"Fucking light them up!"

 

Red grins as he brings his MG to bear - finally at home with something familiar - and lets loose several bursts of fire.

 

Further on he can see the smoking wreck of MaryLou, and it looks - _huh_ \- it looks like she might've been the one to take the disabling shot.

 

Sporadic machine gun fire still peppers the air, but the worst seems to be over for them.

 

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." A half curse, half prayer from the sergeant, slumping down - exhausted - like he never wanted to move again.

 

Grady knows the feeling; head tipped back, sweat pouring from all over, mouth open panting, all his muscles twitching and moving like he's got electricity running through him. Like he's run a marathon or fast shoveled coal all day, like he'll never get his breath back.

 

Collier's eyes slide closed for a moment, then snap open like he's punishing himself for his exhaustion. A groan rumbles in his throat as he pulls himself up and out; machine gun once more gripped tight in his hands.

 

Gordo pats Grady's boot with a couple of hard slaps, he nudges the driver's shoulder with the toe of his boot back; an unspoken  _good driving, thanks for keeping us alive_.

 

Red shrugs off his jacket and Grady looks away; popping his hatch and getting the hell out of there as the a-driver covers Petey up.

 

Grady don't believe in providence or superstition or no stupid shit, but he can't stop feeling bad over Petey. Did he do that? Hate a man so much he's the only one who gets hit? Like maybe his spite marked Peters out somehow. He beats the side of his fist against the hard metal of their sherman and lets the ache travel up his bones.

 

The air outside is hot and dry; Grady blinks - waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden bright - Sergeant Collier lights a cigarette, eyes on MaryLou as someone from Binkowski's tank loots one of the dead Germans.

 

"Let's get him out of there," Don says around the cigarette, legs carrying over to and up the smoking wreck, calling back to them over his shoulder. "Grady!"

 

It's real dark in the tank but Grady can see at least two dead guys - the commander is instantly recognizable from the lack of body from his shoulders up, and what's either the loader or the gunner, sprawled amongst the empty shells - further down looks to be the silhouette of the driver slumped over.

 

He can hear whispering from the front -  _you'll be fine, you'll be fine_  - over and over as Grady shifts lower, feet shifting and slipping around shells. There's two guys down there, one bent over the other, bloody hands holding bloodier hands. A shell rolls away from under Grady's foot clanging loudly as it falls to the lower level.

 

One of the boys looks up - the sole ablebodied man in a tank full of the dead and dying - blinking at them like he didn't hear them climbing up and in, he gives a minute shake with his head and Grady don't need to be no medic to know all that blood ain't just from the driver. His face is all oil stained up, the splotches of clean skin the red of a slight burn. Must be the gunner - hydraulics probably all blown up in his face - Grady decides after getting a good look at the gunner's seat, hoses all busted out and leaking from shrapnel. Would've burnt, but not  _burnt_.

 

"You're all right." The kid murmurs down to the loosening grip; chin wobbling as he talks, but voice low and calm like.

 

His head drops close to the dying man's mouth to hear whatever last words his friend has to say.

 

"You know that's right, we're gonna pray now, told you I'd make praying man out of you." He says with a watery laugh that sounds the furtherest thing away from happy.

 

" _Our lord, who art in heaven-_ " his voice goes quiet til it's a mumble to Grady's ears; if the dying man says anything no one but the praying man hears.

 

Finally the gunner sinks back on his heels, jaw clenched and the hand in his is limp.

 

"You hurt?" Don calls out, from the top hatch. "You hit?"

 

"No, sir." He answers after a moment. "I'm fine."

 

Grady doesn't find any comfort in the way he says  _fine_  like he's still talking to the dying kid.

 

"All right now, let's get you out of here."

 

Grady reaches down to offer the guy a hand out but something leathery and square thumps into his palm instead.

 

 _What the fuck,_  Grady thinks as he crawls back over shell and body to get out of the tank.

 

The kid follows, pausing for a brief moment beside each crew member; a hand on the shoulder of the driver, a lingering pat for the loader, a clasping of hands - like a prayer - for his commander.

 

Then - half in, half out - he hesitates, a jerky motion like he knows has to move on but the idea is too much for him; leaving, too great of a betrayal.

 

Don, boot braced against the .30's footing, gives his shoulder a rough pat.

 

"Recovery'll deal with it." He says - not unkindly but not particularly nicelike either - before hopping down to talk to Gordo checking out MaryLou's damage.

 

"They won't get harrassed none in there." Red says in his best reassuring drawl, looking up from the ground.

 

The kid nods; swallowing noticeably, eyes wet. Grady figures he'll argue - can't blame the kid, really, if he does - but he just fumbles in his pockets until he comes out with a cigarette packet and lighter.

 

He takes one, offers the pack to Grady then hands over the lighter.

 

He takes in a deep breath of smoke and straightens up, face towards the harsh sunlight.

 

His hands, fists punched deep into pockets; the cigarette hanging limply unlit from his lips.

 

He blinks slowly up at the sky, shellshocked, like a man in the brightest sun after thinking he'd never see the light again.

 

Bewildered, awed and blinded.

 

"Unleash the fury of your wrath; look at all who are proud, and bring them low." The words are spoken low with a voice that sounds like ground glass. "Crush the wicked where they stand."

 

The kid is looking back at the battle field - tanks and half-tracks, burning and disabled - eyes drawn to their tank, smoking but still functioning.

 

He closes his eyes, breathes deeply as if the burnt, smoke choked air was the freshest thing he'd ever breathed, and repeats in a voice that sounds a little awed but mostly scared. "Fury."

 

"Fury." Grady repeats like it's a wisdom for the ages. He thinks of the hard voice of his sergeant, of Gordo's steady hands wrapped around a bottle, Red's slow as mollasses voice and mean laugh.

 

 _Fury_.

 

The kid shuts the hatch carefully - almost reverently - palm flat on the closed lid, his eyes closing; Grady looks away as tears slide down the guy's face.

 

Then he's down and off the tank quicker than is strictly safe and Grady's left wondering how the hell he didn't slip in his haste to leave old ghosts behind.

 

"Hey, kid!" He calls out as he realises he's still holding the book in his hand, "Yo, Bible!"

 

The kid blinks back up at Grady who waves the bible the air, he don't want to be carrying this shit around.

 

"Ain't no kid." The kid mutters around his cigarette, a glare for Grady tossing the book down before tucking it somewhere in the bulky jacket that it's way too hot to be wearing.

 

"Sure as shit look like one." Grady grouses, ready to be done with the conversation; the kid's a kid, end o'story.

 

He looks at Grady and for a moment he thinks maybe the kid's gonna try and start something - Grady'd be happy for him to try, his skin's itching and crawling, a good tussle'd do him well - but instead the kid just answers with a sly tilt to his head.

 

"Now, Private, you seem to me the sort of man who might not take kindly to being judged by his countence. I'd have to ask you to return the favor."

 

Grady gets the distinct feeling that he's being mocked but he thinks about it as makes his way back down off MaryLou. His boots sinking into the sand, the little grains working their way in to join the half a tonne that's already in there.

 

"Grady Travis." He says finally, offering out his hands.

 

"Swan," Swan reaches over to shake Grady's hand. "Boyd. "

 

"Well, all right, Swan Boyd, you any good a shot with that thing?" He asks, nodding towards the main cannon as they come round to where Gordo and Red are surveying.

 

"Decent enough when the Lord sees fit to guide my hand." He answers in an even, sincere tone; and the hell of it is Grady can't tell whether he's joking or completely serious.

 

"How's it looking Trin?" Red's asking, crouched down low.

 

"Fucked." Gordo says from somewhere between the tracks. "Axle's completely fucking  _roto_ , musta taken a direct hit to fuck it up this badly. Why the fuck aren't you a giant ball of flame?"

 

The last is probably directed at the tank but Swan's standing right there and, "Grace o'the Lord, I guess."

 

Gordo's head comes into view, looking more than a little shamefaced.

 

"Sorry, man."

 

Swan just shakes his head.

 

"You gotta name?" Collier interrupts the awkward moment.

 

"Corporal Swan, Boyd, sir." He answers, twisting slightly to give show to his T-5 patches.

 

"You the one fired that gun?"

 

"Yes, sir." His eyes - still full of unshed tears - harden; and Grady gets the feeling that if someone stood a battalion of krauts in front of him right now he'd WillyPete the lot of them and not lose a moments sleep.

 

"Good shooting."

 

The _yes, sir_ that Swan answers with the second time is twisted with the weird kind of pride that comes from being good at doing something rotten. Grady don't know all that much about Swan - 'cepting he carries a bible that looks like he's just about read the print off it - but he thinks that maybe - God's guiding hand or no - Swan might be real good at using that gun.

 

"All right, you'll be riding with us. Grady, get him situated in ours, we gotta move on if we're gonna meetup with Battalion anytime this week." Collier says, and Grady can see the way he's standing that he's waiting for Swan to be out of earshot before he tells Red and Gordo to get replace any of their quickly depleting supplies with MaryLou's gear.

 

Swan don't seem to notice though; he's staring at the damaged hull, a haunted look creeping into his eyes.

 

"Come on now, leave it be." Grady says, quiet like he don't usually try to be.

 

Hand against MaryLou's busted up side, Swan closes his eyes like Don's asked him to do the impossible or something much worse. Slowly his head bows, a fist coming up to press a knuckle against lips.

 

 _Praying?_  Grady wonders.

 

Finally he straightens up - steel in his spine like the decision's an easy one - and walks over to their tank without second look back; like what he's leaving behind don't mean nothing.

 

Grady takes another look; the corporal's mouth is set, determined like, but his eyes are wet with unshed tears. Then Grady looks away and don't say a thing as they climb up the tank.

 

 

 

 

  
Grady don't expect to like Swan, don't expect to get along with him.

Despite their similiar southern drawls, they ain't much alike and Grady knows he's not the sort most would want to try to get to know. They're polar opposites in pretty much every way - familiar accent not withstanding - the gunner reads his bible at pretty much every opportunity - the little leather book is falling apart, it's been thumbed through so many damned times - his eyes get wet at the drop of a hat - _or a body_ \- but beneath that bible bashing piety hides a fairly wicked sense of humour. The first time Boyd laughs after a shot - a bark of hideous amusement - Grady almost falls over from the meanness of it.

 

And Boyd just rolls with it when Grady calls him The Good Book or Bible, don't flinch away from the crew's conversation that's mostly made up from a wealth of hard nudges and pulled punches. Don't even rag on Grady when his friendly punches hit on the edge of too rough, just gives as good as he gets back and threatens to make a prayin' man out of him.

 

It's a little odd - 'coz no book-reading kid ever liked Grady - but Bible's got this wide eyed look to him like maybe he don't know thats how it is, like maybe that wasn't how it was where he came from.

 

And Grady don't quite know what to do with that. But he's beginning to maybe get used to the idea.

 

 

 

  
They've been driving for hours; half on edge because there were reports of  _something_ , and that something was supposed to be  _somewhere_  and that somewhere was supposed to be between the camp they left and the next town they're to hit tomorrow.

 

But they're also half bored out of their skulls because the scenery ain't changing and Red's spent the last two hours trying to convince them that every rusting piece of half buried metal they pass is the same one.

 

"It's like a moving set." He says for the third time this hour.

 

"Like the theatre," Boyd says without looking up from his bible, playing along this time.

 

"Yeah, yeah, like it ain't us moving, it's the background." Red says, sounding enthused that someones finally giving his mindlessness some mind.

 

"Round and 'round and fucking 'round?" Grady asks, not really giving a shit either way, he's tired and been simmering a low level anger since before the sun had any real bite to it.

 

"We fucking movin'." Gordo grumbles through the coms - his head outside - taking offense to the conversation and stomping on the accelerator a little harder; making them all sway with the sudden extra motion.

 

"Ugh," Don coughs and spits up top before speaking in a teasing voice. "See if you can't avoid some of the bugs, Gordo."

 

"Pull up your scarf up then." Bible says in the same tone Grady's mama uses when she's told him a thousand times to put a shirt on and he's still come home all burnt red from the sun. He looks up at their sergeant, expecting some response - a teasing kick or something - but he's gone quiet and very still.

 

 

"Don't feel right," Collier's voice sounds in their ears, "Gordo, slow us down. All tanks, this is Love 1-6, anyone else feel like we're being herded into someplace we might not like?"

 

As he listens to the other tanks, Gordo slows on the accelerator.

 

"We gotta get off this-"

 

Don's voice breaks off as the whole tank falls - feels like they've lost all the ground underneath them - Grady smashes his face against a support beam.  Blood falls heavily through his fingers as he groans in pain and everyone loses their shit.

 

"Shit shit shit!"

 

"You seeing anything?!"

 

"Fuck, fucking-!"

 

"We hit?"

 

"No, it's a fucking ditch." Gordo swears sounding annoyed and embarrassed.

 

"Goddamn tanktrap." Don just sounds tense. "Fuck, back up, back up."

 

"Come on, you piece of shit."

 

"Contact 10 o'clock! Red! Swan! Get us out of this ditch, Gordo!"

 

"I'm trying, it's, it's fucking stuck Top!"

 

"Grady, Grady," Bible's calm voice is clear under the yelling; Grady takes his hands away from his face - blood making his hands slip on the metal - and slams home a shell.

 

"CLEAR!"

 

"Davis, they're getting too close to you."

 

"ON THE WAY!"

 

"Grady, smoke! Blind those fuckers."

 

"Peterson, you got panzerfaust on your three!

 

A deafening clang and the tank rocks heavily in it's already shitty position. For a moment Grady thinks they're gonna tip over completely, but instead it slams back down on its tracks. Sparks fly from somewhere near the front as something broke lets them know that it's probably fucked; Red shouts a curse in pain and Swan freezes.

 

"Arty behind those fucking huts!"

 

"CLEAR!" Grady yells, but the gunner doesn't move, instead he's staring at the back of Red's head like he's not even in this tank anymore.

 

- _like he's back in MaryLou; three dead, one dying-_

 

"Bible! Swan! Fire the fucking gun!" Collier shouts impossibly loud, before actually looking down at him. "Boyd, son, I will get us all out of this but only if you  _fire that gun_."

 

Boyd blinks.

 

Presses his eye against the scope.

 

"On the way!" His voice cracks a little, but his aim is true, the .88 going up in a mass of flames and exploding ammunition.

 

One industrious little fucker decides to try his luck again, aiming up his panzerfaust at them.

 

"Red, hose that motherfucker down for me." Collier sounds more annoyed than angry as Red complies gleefully, glad to get to shoot something.

 

Then comes the high pitched sceam of anti-tank fire - the good stuff too - the type that'd take them out no trouble at all. Grady ducks instinctively, which ain't gonna do shit but he can't stop from doing it.

 

"SHIT SHIT SHIT!"

 

"There's another one! Bible! Up on that incline, twenty maybe twenty five degrees."

 

Boyd's arms works overtime on the gun's elevating handle, spinning it up to tilt the barrel high. It hits its highest point and Bible lets out a string of  _fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck_ 's.

 

"Angle's not-" The hydraulics whir, complaining as he tries to gain even an extra inch of elevation from it. "We're too low, Top, it's too high up! I can't get- Fuck!"

 

"All right then - shit - spotter! Hiding behind them bushes!"

 

"I got him." The turret traverses sideways, "ON THE WAY!"

 

"Beautiful! Bible think we could skip it up?"

 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Boyd chants, recalibrating the gun to fire for it. "Might take a couple of shots."

 

"All tanks, all tanks, anyone got a shot at the hill?" Collier demands, and though Grady can hear the sounds of the other tanks firing and Charlie company's rifles, he don't think it sounds particulary likely. "Grady, get us some supercharge and set for point delay."

 

"Anyone not in a ditch?" Red mutters nastily to himself, as the hits of machinegun fire starts peppering at their tank's hide.

 

"Stow that shit." Don snaps as Grady clicks the shell's delay to the right setting. "Boyd, how we doing?"

 

"CLEAR!"

 

"ON THE WAY!"

 

"Little more, Grady," Collier orders, watching the round's path, "Bible, traverse left a smidge, see that rocky ground?"

 

"-roger, I see it."

 

"CLEAR!"

 

"Bounce it off that." Collier suggests as anti-tank fire screams overhead again.

 

"ON THE WAY!"

 

"Beautiful! Hit it again!"

 

"Grady, Grady, come on now, Grady." Boyd's chanting quietly, leg jiggling up and down, ready to toe the trigger.

 

The .88 hits something close as Grady sets the time delay on the next shell, rocking the whole tank, he fumbles, swears -  _fuckfuckfuck_  - and slams the shell home.

 

"YOU'RE CLEAR!"

 

"ON THE WAY!"

 

"Goddamn artist," Collier says, the smugness of a good hit in his voice, before switching frequencies. "Get the infantry to move up, gun is out of commission - repeat, .88 destroyed - clean up what's left."

 

Boyd slumps back in his seat, shaking hands flick at the lighter's flint, trying to light the dangling cigarette before dropping to his sides; giving up.

 

Grady don't say a thing, can't think of anything _to_ say; so he just settles for punching Bible's shoulder, as close to a _you all right?_ as he can give. Bible gives him a wobbly smile before looking down at his hands, like he wants to start praying.

 

"Lord ain't finished with us yet." He says; don't sound all that happy about it, but still manages to sound determined. Like he's shoring up his defenses. Like he's got a job to do and by god he was going to do it.

 

Grady could respect that.

 

Bible stares at his hands for a moment longer than tries again to light his cigarette; the flame catches, he takes a long draw and looks over at Grady.

 

"Your nose is broke."

 

There's blood all down Grady's front, his hands are a disgusting mix of black grease and red blood and everytime he moves his face dried black blood crackles and flakes off.

 

"Fucking feels like it." He answers because it fucking does.

 

"Fix him up," Collier says as he disappears up and out of his hatch. "Red, on me. Gordo, start on getting us out of this ditch."

 

Red grabs his gun and pops his hatch as Boyd sidles across the tank to Grady.

 

"What's the diagnosis, Doc?" Grady asks, mocking because Bible looks too serious.

 

"Well, you ain't gonna be any uglier."

 

"Like that was possible." Gordo adds from the front.

 

"Ain't you supposed to be getting out of this hole you drove us into?"

 

" _Chinga tu madre_!" The driver swears; waving an upraised middle finger as he exits the tank.

 

"Ain't much I can do about this-" Bible says, sounding mournful, like he's supposed to miraculously fix all Grady's aches and pains, and is ashamed he can't.

 

"Broke is broke." Grady growls, angry because it's the easiest to be. "Come on, before everything goes to hell out there."

 

"It's already hell out there." Bible mutters quietly under his breath when Grady's half out. But when he looks back at Boyd, all he sees is hunched shoulders as he stows away the aid kit. Grady don't know how to answer that and he's not even sure he was meant to hear it so he leaves it be.

 

  
When Bible climbs out there's no sign on his face that anything's out of the ordinary; he takes a quick glance for the rest of tanks - just one down - then sighs tiredly and smokes the rest of his cigarette.

 

Don's swaggering back over, gun held loosely in his hands; there's a smattering of gun fire coming from up the hill, Charlie Company giving what's left of the kraut arty team hell.

 

"You know you called me son," Boyd says, leaning on the .30, looking down at Don, eyes narrowing; like he's decided to find something weirdly amusing in all this. "If this war hadn't happened, and we'd met a few months later, I would have been the one calling _you_ son."

 

Collier leans back on his heels - studying Swan - before saying, in a tone that brook no argument, "No, you would not."

 

The gunner just laughs like Don has told the funniest joke.

 

"You assholes gonna help me with this?" Gordo demands from somewhere obscured by their tank. "Or you like it here so much you wanna spend the rest of your war in this ditch?"

 

"All right, all right." Collier says scanning the horizon as Charlie Company starts returning to the tanks. "Let's get it done."

 

 

 

 

Another day, another diversion battle to take German eyes off another deep set mountain pass that the brass really want.

 

The battle plan - as always - quickly goes to shit as soon as they're actually in battle. Before long it's gotten up close and personal; infantry fighting amongst the few tanks the higher ups had deigned to allocate to this side shit show.

 

The mortar fire eventually lets up - petering out to the occasional drop - but there's no moment of relief, the halted mortar replaced by Afrika Korps up close and personal. Everything falls apart quickly after, blurring into fighting every moment to keep from getting knocked out, while trying to keep their attached infantry from being completely overrun.

 

Boyd's had his eye against the scope for what seems like hours, in the zone of finding a target, destroying it, then moving to the next target Don directs him at; when suddenly he makes a small pained noise.

 

"Oh Lord."

 

Grady's seen Bible comforting a kid with his guts all blown out and his voice never made a sound like that.

 

"Goddamnit! Red!" Collier yells almost coherently.

 

"That's gon be us I move." Red shouts over the noise of his gun.

 

"Don't you fucking overheat that!" It's a common tease from Gordo, but the fear in his voice twists it into something mean.

 

"Son of a bitch." Don's not even yelling anymore, instead he sounds like someone just suckerpunched him.

 

The turret turns impossibly slow to Bible's  _fuck fuck fuck_ ; spraying his machine gun across the field with the turn. Grady clicks the time delay to the right setting and hopes its spray fucks everything outside up something good.

 

"YOU'RE CLEAR!" Grady yells, taking the moments it's taking Bible to traverse to get a look outside. He's gotten used to the sound of constant bombardment, gotten used to the constant rocking of the tank -  _gotten used to it_ \- but outside - what Don's seeing constant - is as close to hell as Grady's seen so far; which is saying something.

 

Long streams of fire are shooting out of every opening of the tank closest to them; some kraut motherfucker with a flamethrower has managed to jam it into one of the open hatches, not stopping like the fucking screams are music to his fucking ears. So intent on being a murderous bastard, the asshole don't notice Bible's traverse - though he surely notices the HE round Bible puts in his close proximity. Ain't much left of him after.

 

Boyd's eyes squeeze shut, brow pinching tight like his head hurts in the worst way. He jerks as Collier kicks out at him -  _pay a-fucking-ttention_! - he yells like Bible's been slacking. Boyd's mouth presses tight, holding back words in a way Grady can't.

 

"Leave fucking off him!" Grady yells, angry because everything's gone to shit and Don ain't got no cause to be sore at Bible for nothing. "Get us the fuck out of here!"

 

"Grady." Boyd says, eye back on his scope.

 

Grady lets of a stream of choice fucking curses, mingled between harsh words directed at Collier as he slams home shell after shell after shell. It's only later he'll remember the wild in Don's eyes, the way the flames seemed to stay reflected in them, like a man haunted.

 

The battle's winding down - tanks waiting for the infantry to pull back before doing the same - when something explodes close. Another tank or something hitting them, Grady don't know, but Don's knees give way as he flinches away from the flying shrapnel. Grady half catches him - awkward like in the small space - but at least the sergeant don't hit the metal at full pace, which as good as it gets today.

 

There's blood all over Don's face, enough flowing freely that Grady can't rightly track the origin. His mouth seems busted up but there's blood all up the side of his face and one of his eyes is shut up tight, and Grady don't know what to do. Gordo's calling for directions, Red's shouting about something that may or may not be fucking relevant right at this instance, and Bible's yelling at Grady to get out the way, yelling for Don to tell him how hurt he is.

 

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" Collier yells, voice cracking at the volume, blood spitting out with each word.

 

"Top?" Gordo asks.

 

Grady don't think he's ever been speechless before but he is now.

 

"What we doin?" Red calls sounding panicked.

 

Bible's just stting there - not talking no more - eyes flicking from man to man; assessing, waiting to act.

 

"Just give me." Collier presses his fists against the side of his head, looking angry enough to burst a blood vessel, blood smearing everywhere. "Fucking. FUCK! Fucking co-"

 

Boyd yanks his comm cable.

 

"Gordo!" The gunner yells out, an order though what he's ordering Grady don't know.

 

"Yup!" The driver answers like he's a fucking mind reader, shoving the sherman into gear and getting her moving backwards.

 

"Keep an eye out!" Bible snaps at Grady, kicking hard against his boot on his way up to Collier.

 

"Shit, Top, you're leaking all over."

 

The deep shrapnel slices have left Collier's face a bloody mess, red dripping down his neck and chest.

 

"Fucking flamethrowers." He mutters like that's any sort of answer.

 

"Roger that," Boyd murmurs as he packs a bandage against Don's face.

 

Collier tries to bat his hands away, but Bible ignores him; just frowns at him like a stern mother and holds the gauze tight as Don tries to swear at him.

 

"Shut your mouth now, Gordo's got us." Boyd says over his complaints, pulling him back down firmly as Don tries to climb back up to his position. "Let's just get you cleaned up first."

 

Bible does his best to get Don's face squared away, there's a cut dangerously close to his eye - the main source for the blood sticking the lids shut - but his sight is thankfully untouched. The cuts are still slightly weeping blood when they finally pull up - the night mostly done - the skin around each gash, red and puffy but not as fucking terrible as it had first looked.

 

"Get some rest, Top." Bible mumbles, half patting the sergeant's shoulder, half pushing him down to rest. "I got first watch."

 

Moments after Don finally agrees to take a moment off - Grady hears Bible unhook his throat mike, pull out his comm cable, and the tell tale sounds of boots against metal as Bible tries to quietly lever himself out the hatch. Grady swears some uncomplimentary things about preacher men under his breath - he needs some quiet time himself dammit - and gets himself up and after the gunner. Bible just sitting up top; knees tucked up close, cigarette wobbling with his bottom lip as he stares the book in his hands instead of the lightening sky.

 

After a moment of sitting silently listening to tank's engine idle - cooling off after too long doing hard work - Boyd wipes at the bloody fingerprints on its black leather cover.

 

"I shouldn't have done what I did." Bible says quiet like, though Grady isn't sure he's exactly talking to him.

 

"You think any of us would have done any different?"

 

"That's not the point. Those boys deserved better," Boyd says to his hands. "Deserved to go home whole."

 

"They was on fucking fire, Boyd, you really think any of them was gonna come out whole?"

 

"I shoulda-"

 

Boyd goes silent, breathing in and out in measured movements, like he's trying to control whatever he's feeling.

 

Grady ain't prepared or equipped to deal with Bible questioning himself, he knows the gunner carries the final moments of his crew around like a damned confession. Knows there ain't no words in the world that can sooth that hurt. Grady wouldn't even know where to begin even if it were possible. 

 

"Shoulda, coulda, wouldn'ta fucking mattered. Stop being a goddamn idiot, already got the sergeant crazed, don't need you fucking cracking up too."

 

"He ain't cracking, Don's fine." Bible snaps back, content to listen to Grady rag on him but not on their sergeant.

 

"He ain't, you seen him, didn't use to-"

 

"He's fine." Boyd interrupts patting Grady's arm - like Grady's the one that needs calming - the hell of it being he  _does_  feel calmer.

 

Then he takes his hand back - shoving it in his pocket - shoulders scrunching up something fierce.

 

"I just wish," Boyd don't finish the sentence. Maybe because he's too upset to, maybe because he's not stupid, hell maybe because he just can't find the words to fully explain what he wishes for. Maybe he don't know what he wants. Grady sure as hell don't.

 

Grady looks around - the morning sun near blinding him, heatwaves already starting to strobe far off - all sand for miles and miles; sand and more sand until he forgets there never was nothing on this earth but desert; he looks out and drawls, "Well, if wishes were fishes we'd still be shit out of luck."

 

And Boyd looks at him,  _really_  looks at him, the kind of searching gaze that makes Grady want to squirm under it, like he's looking into his soul and seeing all his wrongdoings. He wonders if they're about to have a scuffle - god knows Grady has gotten into more fights for less and he ain't afraid to do so again - but Bible just nods like he's understood something, or like maybe Grady had given him a stirling piece of wisdom.

 

He don't know.

 

It's Africa. Ain't no one here knows nothing.

 

 

 

  
Once they're settled into camp the next night, Red hauls himself up over the supplies; checking out the damage.

 

There's a clanging of metal, a few choice words from Red, and a piece of twisted blackened metal gets thrown at their feet.

 

"Maaan," Gordo whines, toeing the ruin with his boot. "Is that our stove? Did the krauts kill our stove? What sort of evil bastards does that?"

 

"It's a sad day indeed when a man can't expect the enemy to leave him his simple creature comforts." Bible answers, looking for all the world like he's about to start a eulogy for the damned thing.

 

"It's downright demoralising, is what it is." Red adds, looking down from where's he crawling over the netting.

 

"Damn right," Grady adds, eyes on an officer heading towards them.

 

"Corporal Swan? Corporal Boyd Swan?" The officer is carrying a clipboard and looks like he's just about to drown in his own sweat.

 

"Yes, sir?" Bible's withdrawing, not quite hiding behind Gordo and Grady, but there's a wariness in his voice that says he might be thinking about it. Grady can't blame him, nothing good never came of no officer calling you out by name.

 

"You lost your crew on December fourteenth?"

 

"Not sure of the date, but that sounds about right." Boyd's face is smooth and collected, but there's a tremor hiding in his voice.

 

Officer Clipboard makes a humming noise and flicks through his pages.

 

"And you've been with Love 1-6 - Sergeant Collier - for the past five weeks?"

 

"About so."

 

"Good."

 

And Grady can already tell this is anything but good.

 

"You'll be joining Love 1-7's crew." He says it like it's expected and not completely out of the fucking blue.

 

"Sir? I had hoped-" Boyd sounds pained and confused; very confused.

 

"What's this all about?" Red asks in a tone that's a lot more civil than Grady would be capable of right now.

 

"Love 1-7 needs a new gunner, and Battalion has assigned Corporal Swan. 1-6 will get a replacement in the morning most likely."

 

"Don't need no replacement, we already  _got_  our gunner right here." Grady explains angrily.

 

"Grady." Red warns.

 

"No, fuck that!"

 

"Grady! It's all right, it's all right. It'll be fine, we're still in the same company." Boyd says hands up like he's ready to stop Grady from doing something stupid; trying to be comforting like that meant anything but getting to watch him die from a far without being able to do fuck all to stop it. Like the fact that they worked better together than Grady ever worked with anyone didn't matter.

 

Damn it all, Grady fucking  _liked_  Bible.

 

"Boyd's  _our_  gunner." Gordo says over Bible's talking and a quick glance reveals a very serious blank face, Trini ain't happy.

 

"Not  _officially_. Corporal Swan was never officially assigned to 1-6, so on paper, he could be assigned to any tank that needs him." Officer Clipboard speaks clearly, as if talking to very young and particularly stupid children. Grady is going to punch his front teeth out.

 

"Well, fucking write us down then!" Gordo demands, his voice of reason cracking under the weight of his anger.

 

"I'm sorry," He don't sound sorry enough in Grady's opinion. "But this transfer already in the system."

 

"I'll give you  _in the system_!"

 

Boyd's got a hand on Grady's sleeve - already prepared to pull him away if Grady goes for Clipboard - his knuckles tightening at the loader's tone.

 

"What's going on here?"

 

"Sergeant Collier?" Clipboard sounds relieved, like he expects Don to be fucking reasonable. "May I talk to you privately?"

 

The two of them move just out of earshot; Red drops down from the tank and spits.

 

"Well, fuck." He says - explaining the situation perfectly - as they all watch the sergeant and the officer talk.

 

Don comes back, Clipboard hovering in the background - smart enough to stay a good distance from them.

 

"Looks like this might be happening," He says.

 

"Top, what the fuck?"

 

"Whatever the case, we're settled in here for the night," He orders over their complaints. "Come morning I want this thing completely overhauled."

 

Boyd swallows like he's choking on something then clears his throat.

 

"I'm going to see if I can't rustle us up some joe." He tells them his eyes not shifting from Collier, before walking towards the other tank crews.

 

"When we roll out in the morning." Collier says, picking at his words like if he chooses the right ones everything will turn out well.

 

"Sir." Bible doesn't really stop so much as pause briefly, looking back at them from over his shoulder, not bothering to actually listen to Collier's answer.

 

"Smith's a good man." It sounds like an excuse, even to Grady.

 

"Smith's an asshole." Red spits again and walks off into the dark.

 

"His driver's a fucking moron." Gordo grumbles, which is as good a condemnation as anyone can give.

 

"Quit your griping, you'll still see your sweetheart." Don says, voice getting mean.

 

"It ain't the same," Grady glares back.

 

"Not the same, Top." Gordo echoes, shaking his head.

 

"And you know it!" Grady yells.

 

"We've got our orders."

 

"You think that makes it all right?! All right that you're just gonna lose Bible? 'Cause it ain't right!" Grady yells, "It ain't right, Don."

 

"Stow it, Coon-Ass."

 

Grady opens his mouth to retort something mean and biting but Collier just keeps talking like he ain't there.

 

"You boys sort yourselves out - quit your bitching and get your shit together - I don't want to hear no more on this. Grady, you ain't eaten all day, can't do nothing if you don't eat something."

 

"Why? You think you're my daddy now? Gonna tell me how to look after myself?!" Grady's not screaming, but he ain't exactly talking calmly either; twisting as much meanness into the words. But he's angry - hurt - and he wants to hurt something - someone - to hurt as well. "You gonna be my  _war_ daddy? Can't even keep us to-fucking-gether, get the fuck out here!"

 

He shoves at Collier, trying to make get away before he does something he both do and don't want to do. Collier shifts with the push but is as immovable as the tank he commands. In that moment Grady hates him as much as he ever hated anything else.

 

He can see Gordo half standing behind them, like he wants to intervene but doesn't know where to even begin.

 

"Just get yourself something to eat." Don orders again - voice harder this time, feet shifting in the sand - before walking off and Grady hates everything.

 

Collier almost runs into Bible in his haste to get away; the gunner swaying, concentrating on not spilling any of the steaming cups he's balancing. The two of them pause for a moment, exchange some words that Grady can't hear. Bible looks at them - at Grady - before looking back at Don.

 

They talk for a moment more and Bible hands off a cup to the sergeant. He looks for a beat to try to refuse it, but Bible just holds it out until Don finally takes it. With a slight shake to his head Bible parts ways with Don, heading back towards them.

 

Bible don't say nothing now he's back - he's smart enough to see that everyone - Grady - is on the edge of starting an argument with anyone who looks at him wrong. And Bible don't like conflict - it's what made riling him up usually so fun.

 

Instead he just hands a cup off to Gordo - a few quiet words that sound like gratitude - and maneuvers Grady around til he's sitting so he can give him one of the coffees. It's bitter and shit -  _like every thing here_  - Grady finds himself curling around the slight warmth, focusing on too hot tin against cold knuckles and nothing else.

 

It's the little things, he tells himself, like maybe if he told himself that enough he wouldn't be so fucking frustrated.

 

Red comes in from the dark brandishing a new stove, a big grin on his face.

 

"Where the hell did you dig that up from?" Gordo asks, impressed, as Grady pipes up - curious - with;

 

"You steal that, Red?"

 

"Some asshole grunts from Charlie -" He pauses for a quiet  _thanks_  as Bible passes over a coffee. "-looted some downed tanks. I may have had a word or two with them."

 

"Just words, huh?" Gordo asks, eyeing the bow gunner's reddened knuckles.

 

"There were  _some_  words," Red hides a wicked grin behind a sip of coffee before commenting with appreciation, "Aah, that's terrible."

 

"Mmmhmm," Bible murmurs in agreement, settling down close to the flame; less for warmth and more for reading light as the good book is pulled out.

 

 _So, guess we ain't talking about this,_  Grady thinks, all of them sitting lost in their own thoughts; too quiet and too alone.

 

 

 

 

  
The morning brings Collier and Smith conferring quietly over a cigarette with Officer Clipboard back and looking a lot less pleased.

 

Red and Gordo are taking turns being ass-up in the engine, and Grady's on his back greasing the tracks with Boyd seated beside his feet trying to clean out some of the sand from the undercarriage. All studiously ignoring the fact that any moment now some freshfaced replacement was going to show up and steal Boyd's place.

 

"Sergeant Collier? Sergeant Collier?" Officer Clipboard calls out as Don makes his way back to their tank.

 

He comes to stand near Bible and Grady's feet.

 

"He ain't going."

 

"Sergeant?" Clipboard asks, in the voice like the grounds falling from below his feet.

 

"This is our gunner." He says in the patient tone of a parent talking to tantrum prone child, clapping his hand down on the top of Bible's head. "We just broke him in and I am not prepared to do that all over again for no good reason."

 

Clipboard blinks at him, surprised at finding resistance where he expected ease.  _Good_ , Grady thinks, may as well learn _that_ lesson good and early.

 

"But, Sergeant,"

 

"I don't care." Smith says, shrugging like he actually don't. "Don't matter any which way to me."

 

"But,"

 

"We all ready got the greenie, anyhow." Smith interrupts. "Came in first light with the ordinance officer; thought I might as well nip this nonsense in the bud and collect him up for myself."

 

Don laughs as Officer Clipboard walks off sputtering and muttering about goddamn tank teams; and Smith pulls him aside to go over the day's map concerns.

 

"Well, I'll be." Red whistles, leaning back on the tank and lighting a smoke.

 

Grady crawls out, enthusiaticly punching at Bible's leg as he stands up.

 

"Never seen you go to the bat for anyone before," Gordo says, his voice soft in a way that means he's winding up to be mean. "I'm feeling a little left out, man."

 

"Shut up."

 

"You starting to have feelings in there?" He teases, poking at Grady's chest.

 

"Leave off!" Grady slaps away his  _poke-poke-poking_  finger.

 

Gordo gives him an extra poke; laughs like an asshole when Grady swings at him. He misses but then Grady don't really want to hit him anyway.

 

  
"How we looking boys?" Don walks back, asking like nothing's out the ordinary.

 

"Supply's hooking us up with more ammo but we snapped most of our cable getting out of that fucking ditch and we still ain't had a chance to replace it." Gordo's lips press together like he's holding back an avalanche of curse words about the ditch - Grady can think of a few choice words he'd like to use too. "And the sand's got into fucking everything."

 

"Do what you can about the sand."

 

"Engine don't idle for shit anymore." Gordo continues on, getting on a roll.

 

"All right, all right, I get it, Red, see if you can't wrangle us some more cable."

 

"You got it, Wardaddy." Red answers easily with a half salute.

 

 _Wardaddy_ , because apparently Red finds things that are gonna get Grady killed funny. Grady glares at the back of Red, already swaggering off to liberate what he needs from some unsuspecting motherfucker, who'll be too blinded by Red's good ol' boy Texan politeness to realise he's robbing them blind.

 

"Knock that shit off." He hisses at the Texan asshole next time he gets him alone.

 

But the damage is done because by the time they ship out of Oran, the name has well and truly spread through the battalion; like wildfire or the clap. Before he knows it Gordo and Red have put their heads together and scrawled 'WarDaddy' down the cannon in dripping white ship paint like a big banner that's going to get Grady killed by their sergeant.

 

Grady thinks his only saving grace is that no one else seems to really exactly know how the name came about.  _He's the father of war_ , a supply clerk tell Gordo in a hushed tone, a wide eyed gunner from Peterson's crew tells Grady - with the absolute conviction of someone who knows they're right - that it's because Collier is older and meaner than any war.

 

Grady laughs his ass off and wisely don't say a goddamned thing.

 

 


	2. Italy

Sicily is chaotic - not enough feet on the beach - but pushing forward anyway because staying where they were wasn't a goddamned option anymore. The surviving german tanks from yesterday's bombardment were advancing on the beach where ninety percent of the fleet still hadn't been unloaded. Grady can see tanks from the 67th sitting abandoned, mostly sunk in the sand from last night's attempted unloading. Love 1-9 stalls out a few feet onto the sand, Don's harsh laughter sounds over her commander's swearing and yelling.

 

Four functioning tanks are all they that manage to get onto the beach when the other side's first barrage starts.

 

"Push! Gordo! Push forward!" Don's yelling over the comms, over the sound of every weapon on the beach firing back.

 

"What about the-?" Red's asking, already preparing to leap out and try to remove the tank's water proofing.

 

"No time, no time! Just gonna have to hope she don't stall." Gordo is a stream of _fucks_  shoved in between what is surely Mexican curses but the tank chews up wet sand under his direction.

 

"What you want Top?" There's a tremor in Bible's voice though his hand is steady on his controls.

 

"Start with that fucker in the middle."

 

"Highest up?" He asks, already traversing and spinning the elevation up.

 

"Yeah, fucker's got good vantage - Peterson! You got that arty?"

 

Grady can here _keep your spacing_ being passed back and forth between tanks from Don's helmet as he repeats it, "Keep the spacing, Gordo."

 

"CLEAR!"

 

"ON THE WAY!"

 

"Don't want us to all gone in one go." Red mumbles to no one between a volley of gunfire.

 

"They're arming the fucking cooks out there!" Gordo yells and Grady can't tell if the driver thinks it's funny, or a cause for worry. Probably both, Gordo's sense of humour fell into the darker side more times than not.

 

Sometime later - Grady can't say how long, time don't mean a thing, won't mean a thing, til something settles - a series of sudden explosions rattles the ground, huge impacts that shatter whatever they hit.

 

"The fuck is shooting?" Red shouts, swinging his gun back and forth looking for the target.

 

"Ships! It's the ships!" Gordo yells back.

 

"Form up!" Don commands before changing frequencies.

 

"Anyone got contact with any of the spotters from Boise or Savannah? I don't give a fuck if you don't, I want to know who fuck has!" Then he laughs meanly at something said before speaking, "Thankyou 1-2, you want to call her fire? See if we can't avoid getting fucked up by our own guys this time."

 

"Fuck Africa!" Gordo yells.

 

"Fucking Africa!" Red echoes, laughing like he's fondly remembering being fired upon by their own side.

 

"All right, knock it off now." Don says, though he don't sound all that annoyed by their talking.

 

"Let's find these boys some better cover." The rest of the day blurs into loading shells, listening to Don yell at the infantry men nearest the tank, and slowly drowning in sweat.

 

"Oh shit!" Red crows after a loud resounding _boom_ from afar, morbidly amused.

 

"Fuck me!" Gordo adds, eyes on his periscope, Grady swivels his around to see what they're looking at.

 

A huge plume of smoke - one that seems to reach miles and miles up into the sky - from an explosion, sits on the sealine.

 

"That a ship?" He asks, though it probably can't be much else, out to sea like it is. "

 

Ammo stores you reckon?" Red asks.

 

"Fucking unlucky bastards."

 

"How come it ain't sunk?"

 

"Water's too low maybe." Bible answers.

 

"That'd be my guess." Don adds; with his head out the hatch, he's the one with the best view. "She is as sunk as she's gonna get."

 

Eventually it ends. Night falls and out to sea the downed ship gets a hammering from planes droning overhead, being the only thing really visible in the dark of night. German Armour finally pulls back, retreating when no one can see them to fire at.

 

Finally there's Don conferring with higher ups and he comes back looking not entirely pissed off for once.

 

"All right, looks like it's going to be a couple of hours before we move out, and I want you all to get some shut eye."

 

 

Something wakes Grady. First goddamn restful moment since they landed and now he's awake and listening to the sounds of distant bombing and not so distant gunfire.

 

Grady's scared - it's not a new revelation - he's been scared since they shipped out from New York. None of them talk about it, but he knows while they're all sitting on their own varying stages of war-crazy none of have yet to fall past the invisible line of not feeling fear.

 

Sometimes, Grady thinks he'd like to just - for fucking once - stop feeling the constant crushing fear. But - and this is the hell of it - he's _scared_  to.

 

The guys who stopped feeling that heavy fear usually went and got themselves - and anyone unlucky enough to be around them - killed, and Grady ain't going to be the one responsible for getting anyone in his crew killed. Besides, he's been doing the scared to angry to fucking exhausted cycle for so long now, he doesn't know how he'd sleep without it.

 

Don's breathings all heavylike in the barely lit tank. It's what woke Grady up, he thinks. Breathing heavy, but awake and staring at nothing like its something terrible.Grady casts an eye about the tank; Red's sleeping - head tipped back making his loud gargling snoring noises every second breath. Gordo's got less than half a bottle left of whatever the shit he's drinking and is staring at the dregs like they're extremely thought provoking; completely lost on in the last sloshes of liquid. He glances across at Bible; glasses on, bible open, though how he can read in the low light is beyond Grady.He almost misses Bible looking back, figuring the guy would be communing with his god or some shit.

 

Boyd's eyes flicker to Don, so Grady guesses he's noticed the sergeant too.

 

Grady don't know how to help Don, he's too rough and the sergeant don't take kindly to meddling at the best of times. The two of them bash up against each other, burring the other's edges worse til all that's left in both of them is anger. Bible breathes out something that's not quite a sigh and closes up his book. Settles himself lower - more comfortable like - and retrieves his gun and kit. The quiet clinking of metal against metal and rag running over the pieces echoes softly under Red's snores. Then he picks up a tune - a hymn from the sound of it - singing it low as he goes about cleaning the rifle.

 

"You gotta do that now?" Don don't quite sound angry, more like he's fixing to be.

 

"I'm gonna do it now." Bible answers when he gets to the end of the verse. Afterwards he doesn't pick the words back up, just hums as his hands keep working.

 

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" Don asks, a fighting edge to his voice.

 

"Shouldn't you?" Boyd snipes back.

 

"At least sing something we all know." Don's boot nudges Bible's shoulder.

 

"You want me to guess the one hymn every one of you godless heathens might know?" Bible grouses, getting a slight smile from Don.

 

"How about Upon The Cross?"

 

"Cross O' Calvary? Is that-" Bible tilts his head, like he's trying to recall the tune and then hums a few bars.

 

"Yeah, that's the one." Don says, settling lower in his seat like he's getting comfortable.

 

Bible takes up the new tune, one eye still on the sergeant as he continues with his rifle.

 

"Hey, I don't know this one." Gordo complains.

 

 _Heathens_  Bible mouths at the ceiling.

 

"Sing me Rum and Coca Cola." Red calls out, though he ain't moved in the slightest, and Grady's not sure he's stopped snoring either.

 

"I ain't taking requests." Bible snaps as Don laughs.

 

Boyd takes up his hymn again, ain't no choir boy sweet tones - too low and made to not carry far - but it's nice to hear nonetheless.

 

 

 

Somewhere between the coast of Siciliy and mainland Italy, Bible starts growing a moustache. Grady notices that, even though he can't remember ever seeing a no man of god with just hair on his lip and no beard. Bible looks perpetually tired as Grady watches the hair on his top lip thicken from sad teenage attempt to something that actually looks like it might be a moustache.

 

Bible strokes it sometimes - usually when they're coming down from a battle, or something just as stressful - runs his hands over his face like he's lost something, like maybe it was the only thing Bible had any control over. Grady gets that; it don't stop him from poking at it whenever Boyd gets too serious, but he gets it. Just like Grady gets that it's his job to pull Bible out of whatever thoughts hold him, even if it is just to make him take a half hearted swing at Grady.

 

Grady both loves and loathes that moustache; loves it because it was one of the few things that Bible was still sensitive about - riling him up could be the highlight of the day some days. Hates it because sometimes - though he don't often think of Bible in the term, Bible was still goddamn young - he'd look at the kid and not see a kid anymore.

 

Don don't say much either way - only speaks up when Boyd's threatening bodily harm - but then the sergeant's been as clean shaven as he could get ever since he discovered that his hair grew weird around his shrapnel scarred mouth.

 

 

 

Across the way from where they're parked up awaiting orders, some G-2 soldier is trying to converse with a surrendered German captain, both not speaking a word of the other's language. Grady's pretty sure the resulting charades is possibly the funniest thing he's seen since November, Gordo and Red too if the way they're spitting food crumbs out with each snort of laughter is anything to go by.

 

"It ain't that funny, shut the fuck up." Bible groans from where he's slumped over the .30 like it's actually a comfortable rest.

 

"What? This offend your delicate sensibilities?" Gordo asks, mean laughter in his voice.

 

"Yeah, it offends my delicate sensibilities." He snipes back not even bothering to open his eyes or move; because Bible's learnt when to just take an insult and when to throw it back in their faces, and sometimes he don't have all that much more patience than the rest of them.

 

Finally Collier groans like he's never been so put upon and calls across at the two, "He's saying there's a POW holding camp down in San Jo, San Jo _was_? _Wo hast du gesagt_?"

 

"San Giuseppe Jato." The German repeats.

 

"Where ever the fuck there is."

 

"What the fuck?" Grady asks, both annoyed that this afternoon's entertainment has been abruptly fucking cancelled and apparently his sergeant is fucking german.

 

"You a fucking Kraut now, Top?" Gordo adds.

 

"I speak German, if that's what you're fucking asking." An edge of tired anger colors the sergeant's tone. "I don't got to explain how knowing what the enemy is saying could be useful, do I?"

 

"No, sir," Bible answers as Gordo mumbles under his breath in Spanish and Red chews noisily on his c-rations.

 

"Well, I don't like it." Grady grumbles.

 

"He don't like it." Don repeats, looking at Bible who has lifted his head up and is tiredly looking between the two of them.

 

"He don't like it." Bible agrees, a smile in his voice though the one on his face is hidden, buried back in his arms.

 

And somehow just like that, the argument is over before it even had a chance to begin.

 

 

 

Grady forgets sometimes that while Bible might be generally quiet, he sure as shit ain't shy. So when some buck private perched up on the tank across from theirs is watching Bible - sniping at him all morning - Grady ignores it. Bible's his own man and can more than hold his own against whatever the private might say or do.

 

Boyd's got his knees pulled up close to his chest, open bible tucked in the small space between thigh and chin, listening to Grady swear at the bogies, intermittedly offering him a hand and ignoring the slurs the soldier across from them has been throwing underhanded-like at Bible's faith.

 

"You here to save Nazis?" The private asks, spitting on the ground, angry, like he wants to spit at Bible and Grady thinks he's mighty glad Collier ain't close to hear that tone aimed at one of his men.

 

Grady hovers close, not quite stopping what he's doing but keeping an ear out on the conversation, but Bible - not even bothering to look up from his pages - just answers as calmly as he has the last three dozen times the private's spoken to him.

 

"No, buck, I'm here to kill Germans just like you," Bible pauses, like maybe he's finally getting tired of the conversation. "Whether they're saved or no, well, that's between them and The Lord."

 

"Don't know how they let people like you in the army," The private sneers - Grady is suddenly very conscious of the wrench in his tightening grip. "You may as well be one of them."

 

Bible sighs, air loudly blowing out his nose as the muscle in his jaw ticks. He pauses a moment then carefully closes his bible.

 

"I hear what you're saying, but if you keep on me," Bible says, the temperature in his tone dropping cool, watching as the private pushes off his tank, boots sinking into the mud as he straightens and stands up angrily. "Then we're gonna have some words. You hear?"

 

Bible's face is smoothly cold, but his icy steel tone reminds Grady of his mama when he was one misstep away from getting a whooping. Grady tells Bible exactly that as he gets between him and the Private; all puffed up and sputtering like a bantum rooster. Grady narrows his eyes at him, he ain't afraid to punt him 'cross the yard neither if he wants to try some shit. He glances back at Bible, whose looking straight at Grady with his face unchanged, and Grady finds himself wondering if maybe _he_ was the one who took it too far.

 

Bible never did seem to care much either way when Don spit and was more than a little irreverent when Boyd quoted from his book. Never seemed to mind that Red's prayers and grace weren't strictly traditional in any way, shape or form. Grady liked to think that Red meant well, that he liked to make people laugh nearly as much as he loved the pretty little thing in the photo he carried around. But Boyd wasn't all forgiving either. He got mad and offended just like any man, and maybe Grady was the one that had pushed on him too far this time.

 

But Boyd just tilts his head, a grin slowly sliding into place.

 

"You could do with your Mama out here. Lord knows your 'daddy' ain't any good."

 

"You gonna tell my 'daddy' that?"

 

"Oh, your 'daddy' knows he can't keep you in line." There's a definite laugh in Boyd's voice now and the forgotten private looks bewildered.

 

He's looking between the two of them and then at their tank and maybe remembering all the stupid rumours that fly around about their commander. Grady don't hold much in the tales that pass around worse than scabies, but he don't mind so much when he gets to see newbie private's go green as their brain finally catches up with their mouths and decide that maybe they don't want to be messing with the crew behind those stories.

 

Boyd just shrugs as the private finds somewhere else to be, going back to his reading like it never happened.

 

That's fine, Grady thinks, memorising what the kid had looked like, he can be unforgiving enough for the both of them.

 

 

 

They talk about anything and everything, stuck in that tank days on end together. They forge the kind of familiarity comes from knowing each other too well, no topic too dark or too trivial. It passes the time and sometimes gives them a moment where they're not completely absorbed by their situation. Sometimes.

 

"I don't mind none." Bible is saying as he hunches further in on himself like that's gonna ward off the chill that seems to sink into their very bones.

 

"Really?" Grady asks. "Thought a bible bashing bastard like you'd be all over that 'bury me in consecrated earth' shit."

 

"It's just the mortal body, Grady," Boyd says shrugging, "The flesh won't mean much when you're passed."

 

Grady thinks Bible might feel that way about his own self, but he sure as shit didn't practice that preach when it came to the dying boys they find along the way.

 

"Well I fucking care. I wanna go home. Don't want to be fucking stuck here forever." Red says loudly from the front, voice sounding an odd mix between serious and uncharacteristically annoyed. Like the idea of being buried in Italy offended his very being.

 

"It's just your body, Red, your soul'd be-"

 

"It's _my_ fucking body. And I want it home." Red interrupts. "Don't you start none of your soul saving preacherman bullshit on me now."

 

"I ain't," Boyd answers all calm like. "I'm just saying-"

 

"Oh, you're _just_  saying."

 

"All right now, knock it off - Bible -" Collier punches Boyd's shoulder, "Leave off the soul talk."

 

"You worried he's gonna go after you next, Top?" Grady asks in the silence that follows.

 

"Shit," Gordo pipes up, amusement in his voice. "Wardaddy don't got no soul."

 

"Better off going at Grady again than him." Red finishes off wih an infectious laugh, seemingly over whatever hang up he had had previously.

 

And the tank rolls on.


	3. Europe pt.I

England itches in ways that Grady can’t explain but definitely don’t like.

 

Similiar enough to home to make him more homesick than he’d ever thought himself capable, and different in little ways that make it grate on his nerves. The weather goes from freezing and shit, to rainy and shit, and then to miserable wind and shit that has Grady dreaming fondly of boiling to death in a tank somewhere in North Africa - that’s how he knows he’s fucking done for. Fucking _fondly_  remembering Africa.

 

All the training and the way everyone hustles around like the invasions gonna happen tonight and not some undeterminined date months from now sets his teeth on edge. Ain’t no relaxing, just holding and waiting repeating the same bullshit exercises and being yelled at over and over again.

 

Restful, it ain’t, no sir.

 

But the waiting. Forever fucking waiting like someone decided to make war more unbearable.

 

During some down time, Grady finds himself looking at their new tank - virgin metal, all freshed up - and hopes it ain’t a lemon like the one they’d had for all of their first week in Africa before Gordo had accidentally on purpose drove it into a ditch and Red had suggested they set it on fire - they hadn’t, but the sentiment was surely there.

 

The bare unmarked cannon annoys him - he misses WarDaddy even though she was already a falling apart piece of shit by the time they’d hit Sicily - this was gonna be their new home in Europe, was gonna keep them all alive and kill by their hands. She was gonna be one of them and all of them and it wasn’t right she didn’t have a name.

 

 _Fuck it_ , he decides as he wanders off to go con some supplies out of a sailor.

 

An hour later Boyd comes and finds him, a steaming cup of coffee for him in hand. Grady’s fingers are spotted with white paint; his letters aren’t quite as neat as he might’ve liked but they’re readable and - more importantly - they ain’t fucking _WarDaddy_.

 

He takes a step back - gulping too hot, shitty coffee - and looks at his work.

 

Boyd sips at his own cup and don’t say nothing.

 

The silence stretches on and Grady wonders if maybe he fucked up. Maybe Boyd don’t want to be reminded of that day, maybe Grady’s a fucking asshole for still thinking about that shit, or maybe he was supposed to get like a consensus or some shit before drawing all over their tank, or, hell, maybe Boyd don’t even remember why Grady chose what he chose to paint along the barrel. It was a long fucking time ago - both in war time and years - and one man’s moment didn’t neccessarily get remember by another.

 

Bible puts his cup down, then - hands digging deep in his jacket’s pockets like he does when he pretends it’s just him in the world - he strides over and inspects the words like they’re the finest piece of art in a gallery. Stares at the paint in silence for a good while longer, then finally he kind of ducks his head - a smile hiding perhaps - then he looks up at Grady.

 

"You get to tell Don that you went and fucked with his brand spanking new tank." That smile turning a little mean, like he’s looking forward to seeing the fireworks, but there’s a look in his eye that says he might just be on Grady’s side for this one.

 

"Heart of a poet." Gordo says when he sees it, fist hitting solidly against Grady’s chest, a grin on his face.

 

Ain’t no poetry in it that Grady can see, but what the fuck does he know?

 

"You gonna be angry enough for that?" Red spits but there’s smile on his face that’s lacking a lot of its usual meaness.

 

Grady ducks his head, embarrassed, because they seem to like it - and he was so prepared for them to not - and Grady don’t know what to do with getting something right.

 

Don just shakes his head and says “Y’all gotta live up to it now.”

 

Though what that means Grady don’t know either, he doesn’t get yelled at though, so he figures this one’s a win in his column.

 

 

 

Don’s losing at cards.

 

Some enterprising young man had cleaned a table of it’s usual mechanical junk and a game of poker had been flowing ever since, NCOs and enlisted tankmen playing a hand or two between going over their new tanks for The Day that’s coming; tomorrow or the next, or the next, of whenever someone decides to finally stop fucking postponing it.

 

"You don’t have forty bucks." Bible is whispering to Don, sitting close but apart from the game.

 

To Grady, forty bucks seems an impressive debt to be racking up all things considered.

 

"He don’t know that."

 

"He will when you lose." Red says, leaning on Don’s shoulders to look at his cards.

 

"You’re playing with quarters and fucking _pence_ , how the fuck you lose forty bucks?" Grady throws in because if it’s Pick On Don Day, he is so in.

 

"I ain’t losing." Don grouses back, shrugging the a-driver off.

 

"As your second in command," Bible says, still not looking up from his pages, "I feel it’s my job to tell you, you’re terrible at cards."

 

"You losing." Grady adds because he’s seen Wardaddy’s hand, just like he’s seen the last eight, and nothing short of every ace in the pack is going to ressurrect that mess.

 

"Well then," Don says, a purely evil grin splitting his face as he looks across the table at the 1st Armored tank commander who is very politely ignoring all of Don’s crew’s input. “It’s a good thing we’re in the middle of a war then.”

 

"I am not dying to get you out of your card debt." Red complains as Don’s hand loses. Again.

 

 

“He’ll pay you back.” Boyd promises.

 

"Yeah? When?"

 

Bible’s smile is angellic, but his words sure as shit ain’t. “Tomorrow.”

 

"Tomorrow? Tomorrow?!"

 

"Tomorrow." He repeats because he’s as much an asshole as the rest of them; he’s just better at hiding it.

 

"Hey now, that’s the word of a man of God." Gordo adds, managing to keep the grin off his face but not out of his voice. "Gotta be happy with that."

 

"Fuck all of you." The sergeant swears as Red laughs in the background, then he’s walking off shaking his head in disgust.

 

"See you in Paris!" Red calls out at the retreating sergeant who raises his middle finger back at them but keeps walking.

 

"You best hope D-Day don’t get delayed again or you gonna be hiding from him and his crew for fucking ever." Gordo says with an evil chuckle.

 

"And I ain’t helping you." Boyd adds, shaking his head in mock disgust.

 

"Oh, the good book’s got rules about gambling too now?"

 

"The bible’s got lots of rules." Boyd says, pointing a finger at Don like he’s thinking about giving a sermon though he surely knows better by now. "And you can bet one of them is, if you can’t play cards, _don’t play fucking cards_.”

 

"Aww, Bible, where’d the fun be in that?" Gordo asks as Don gets his arm around Boyd’s neck and ruffles him up.

 

"Especially if you don’t got no money." Bible mutters under his breath as he tries to shrug off Collier’s attentions.

 

 

Balloons float above the beach as they make their way up the wet sand, they look like they belong at some sort of fair as gaudy decoration and not something to stop stukas from flying their low strafing runs. They don’t seem to be stopping bombers from dropping their payloads from higher up, but it’s something at least.

 

As fucked up as it sounds, the whole thing is somehow less stressful than their Siciliy beach landing though the more Grady sees, the more he’s real glad he wasn’t here for D-day.

 

The boys on the beach are the cocky that comes from survivng through hell, and however bad it is now, it’s obviously nowhere near what it had been three days past.

 

"Hey! Where you been? You missed the war!" One yells out as they roll past, and Grady flips his middle finger at him in return; but it’s all in good nature. Grady’s been doing this since ‘42 and he can hear the relief in the GI’s voice. Ain’t nothing give you a little more confidence than the steady roll of tanks.

 

  
"Wardaddy is it?" The Captain after they get off the beach asks, tone almost mocking, looking Don up and down like he’s measuring the man up for a duel.

 

"It is." Don sounds like he’s picking out curtains.

 

"Now how did that come about?" The Captain asks, seeming a little annoyed that Don don’t rise to the bait.

 

"I don’t rightly know." Don lies through his teeth with the straightest of faces.

 

 

Somewhere to the southwest of Carentan they pass a downed 1st Armoured tank with a familiar commander swearing himself blue. He glares at Don miming a tip of his helmet as they pass and they hear a faint _you owe me forty buck asshole!_  shouted at their backs.

 

"I could lend you the forty." Red says idly, like forty bucks is a small sum to him.

 

"It’s the principle of the matter." Don says like that makes sense to anyone but him.

 

 

"We’re ‘closing the Falaise pocket’." Don says in the tone he uses when he fucking hates everything but is determined to pretend he don’t.

 

"Whatever the fuck that means," Gordo swears, annoyed.

 

"Fuck if I know." Don answers, though the way he’s staring at the mess they’ve made Grady don’t know if he’s lying or not.

  

They’ve managed to kill a lot of Germans, is all that Grady knows. And horses.

 

Though why the fuck the fucking krauts had so many horses with them Grady can’t guess, weren’t they supposed to be the master-fucking-race?

 

Grady didn’t know horses could scream like that - would’ve liked to never fucking know if he’s being honest.

 

Goggles firmly in place to keep the flies out, scarves tied securely over mouth and nose in a vain attempt to ward off smell, they look exactly like the faceless killing machines they’re supposed to be fighting.

 

Grady’s actually relieved when Red yanks his scarf away and vomits all down the side of the tank. One shitty moment that’s human and understandable in the middle of all _this_.

 

"You’re cleaning that off." Gordo says like he’s not been running over bodies for the past mile.

 

Red just drops low in his seat, dropping his hatch closed with the right amount of force to remove any fingers that might have been in the way.

 

"The stench of death is slightly less in here." He announces in the exact same tone he uses when he’s spoiling a fight and no one says a goddamned thing for the next five miles.

 

 

  
They’re lucky - that’s what they tell themselves every night that brings the day to end with them all in one piece - but that don’t mean they don’t have more than their fair share of near misses and stupid mistakes. Hell, maybe they _are_  lucky, Grady thinks, having to learn everything the hard way, and yet somehow managing to stay whole. Mostly whole.

 

  
Red nearly gets gutted by a dead kraut that he steps over in his never ending search for things to pick up and collect. When it’s over there’s blood on both of them but the German is dead and Red’s on his ass breathing hard, blinking at the corpse like he expects it to get back up and have another go.

 

Then everyone explodes, talking over each other, full of shock and adrenaline that’s got no place to go and nothing to direct it on.

 

"Jesus. Fuck. What the fuck?"

 

"-laying for days. Fucking dead guys everywhere-"

 

"Who the fuck does that?"

 

"-all them bodies-"

 

"-fucking stench alone-"

 

"You okay, Red?"

 

"Yeah, m’good. Just winged me."

 

"-asshole fucking kraut."

 

" _Jesus Christ_  that scared the shit out of me." Red laughs, wiping a hand over his face before breathing out a long _Fffuuuck!_  at the sky.

 

The laughter is strangely infectious; Gordo snorts trying to hold back his, Bible just shaking his head with little huffs of laughter, Grady doesn’t bother hiding his and Don chuckles quietly in the background.

 

 

 _They’re lucky_.

 

 

After awhile, after the days of killing and killing and _killing_ , Don goes real quiet - quieter than Red and _he’s_  got photos of his goddamned horses pasted all over Fury’s shiny new interior.

 

(There’s a sweetheart too, but all of them - excepting Bible - have some sort of lady stuck somewhere in their tank, it’s the horses Grady notices.)

 

And then he gets angry.

 

The mean kind of angry that has Bible scrambling to keep up with the trail of ruffled feathers and redfaced soldiers Wardaddy leaves in his wake. But he can’t keep it all away.

 

 

No one ever says what starts the fight. Could’ve been something - could’ve been nothing - Collier’s wound tighter than any of them these days; which is saying nothing good as far as Grady concerned because he’s pretty sure none of them really sleep any more. Maybe it started out goodnatured like, but it turns into something meaner far too quickly, the way tussles between different companies often does.

 

They’re all a fucking mess of soldiers pushing and shoving. Grady’s not even sure if he’s trying to break the fight up or break someone’s head. Red’s got one of them in a headlock and is kicking out at the one that thinks he’s gonna be able to wrestle Gordo to the ground. Grady yanks at the jacket of another, pulling out of the mass and sending him sprawling on the mud a ways. Bible’s trying to get to the sergeant before he pulls a knife - everyone’s looking a little wild around the eyes but Wardaddy ain’t exactly known for doing things halfway - but some asshole has a hand on the back of his neck and is whaling on him like he’s Hitler. The gunner’s got an arm up, guarding off most of the blows but he ain’t exactly concentrating on him, ‘cause the moment he stops to shake him off he’s gonna lose all the ground he’s gained trying to get to Don.

 

Grady shoves GI’s out of his way - they might be fighting fit but they ain’t built or trained to haul 40 pound shells all day - and gets a good grip on the collar of the asshole that’s got his hands on Bible. Grady hauls at him and is rewarded with a satisfying _hyuurk_  as the guy chokes.

 

Grady throws him back, holding a warning hand up when he scrabbles back to his feet, Grady’s face twisting with his best _you don’t wanna try it asshole_  expression.  He heeds, dusting himself off as a friend hauls him out of the mud.

 

Red and Gordo are running the rest of the assholes off - doing their best guard dog impressions - looking surly and mean enough to chase away anyone who might think this was something they’d be wanting to take another go at.

 

Then it’s just Wardaddy and Boyd; he’s got Bible by the front of his jacket - fists twisting the material like he wants to tear the man apart - and Bible’s just taking it. And Grady just don’t know what to do. Sergeant ain’t got his knife out, but he jumps in at the wrong moment and he ain’t gonna get the chance to stop anything bad from happening. Not with the two of them as close as they are, not with Top all riled up and not thinking clearly.

 

Steadily - not slow, not fast - Boyd brings his hands up; gets his palms flat against Don’s chest - but don’t push him away - just kind of presses them into his oil stained jacket like he’s trying to anchor him.

 

"Come back Top, come on now, ain’t no one here but us. Come on now. You’re good, we’re all good."

 

The sergeant’s hands stop twisting Boyd’s jacket so fierce - he’s coming back to himself - blinking like he can’t work out why Bible’s standing where he thought the enemy was.

 

"You’re all right now."

 

Don’s hands flatten and push Boyd back, not hard but not gentle either. Bible goes with the shove, taking a couple of steps back to steady himself but remains in what Gordo calls ‘hovering mode’; not willing to back off til he’s one hundred per cent sure that Don’s okay.

 

Collier’s eyes narrow, squinting at the gunner in a way that could be annoyed or fond or both. Then he claps a hand ‘round the back of Boyd’s neck and drags him around so he’s no longer placing himself between Don and the rest of the camp.

 

"Go on now, it’s alright."

 

Boyd nods in a particularly unbelieving manner, straightening up his twisted jacket and mussed up scarf.

 

Don just growls some sort of sigh and stalks off, hopefully all fought out for the evening.

 

 

  
"Sometimes I think we gonna survive this sheerly out of Wardaddy’s stubborness." Red says around a cigarette, looking more tired than a man alive ought to look, though it’s nothing compared to how he sounds.

 

"We made it this far." Boyd says like a prayer; like he believed if he kept saying it, it’d carry them all the way to Germany and maybe back home too.

 

 

While they all tend to find reasons to disappear when they're camped up with the Battalion, Bible is the one that is least likely to wander off for something foolhardy. And yet, Don gets most annoyed when it's Boyd that's gone off. Though, truth be told, Grady ain't even a little surprised. He don't much like it when Bible disappears either.

 

"Where the fuck is my second?" Don asks, voice not quite as hard as it could be, but not all that friendly either.

 

"Aid station, Top." Gordo answers, though surely Don knows it already.

 

"Boys," Collier sighs. "Would you kindly retrieve our gunner?"

 

He pauses, watching them standing up, then adds, “See you if you can’t make him unwelcome there.”

 

Grady laughs unkindly.

 

"Shit, you are a cruel man, Don." Gordo says, with an evil grin. Grady’s not sure letting him run rampant is going to end well, but he’s willing to bear witness to it.

 

"Gotta be cruel to be kind." Red says cheerily, because quite frankly Grady ain’t sure he knows any other way.

 

"And this kindness is long overdue." Don says to himself as they walk away.

 

They come back with an angry Boyd; officially banned from the aid station on what’s likely going to be point of death - Grady hopes none of get hit any time soon because here’s a good chance the medics may leave them in the gutter now.

 

"What the fuck, Don?" He spits when they dump him at Fury’s tracks, Gordo and Red hightailing it now the real argument is about to start.

 

"Tend to your own flock Pastor." Don just says.

 

Boyd’s eyes narrow, chest moving fast as he breathes short angry breaths, he opens his mouth to retort. Than clamps his teeth together and stalks away. Grady races after him, catching his arm though the gunner yanks it free straight away.

 

"I ain’t in the mood, Grady."

 

"Don’t go back there." He pleads, conscious of Don’s watchful eyes on them, of Boyd’s angry, disappointed ones looking at him.

 

"Grady-"

 

"You bleed in that tent." Grady don’t know what he’s syaing but he knows it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. "And it ain’t good. We need you, don’t go back."

 

Bible just deflates; shoulders sinking, all that righteous anger just gone. He allows Grady to drag him back to the tank but ignores Don as he climbs up and in, then curls up into his corner of Fury, pretending to be asleep if anyone bothers him for the rest of the night.

 

 

  
It’s in France that they really start hurting from lack of AP shells. It seems they run from more tanks than they destroy, the Tigers they come across too well embedded, or too many in number to even attempt to take on. Don don’t like running, but he’s not going back on his word either, won’t be no suicide runs from Fury as long as they’re all sitting in her belly.

 

 

 

During the next day they punch out too far in front of the main line, too far for any support to be coming to them anytime soon, and the hydraulics decide to blow on them. They cannabilize some new hoses from one of the downed tanks, Grady figures that way when Ordinance finally catches up to them, they won’t lose Fury for something else til she’s fixed.

 

"Fuck, Grady, you got the 3/4?"

 

"Yup." He answers, slapping the spanner into Bible’s open palm. His fingers close around it and he slides it in place over one end of the cracked hydraulic hose and he uses the other spanner to try to lever it loose.

 

"Come on you piece of-"

 

"Here, wait," Grady says, jamming himself in beside Bible. "I’ll hold this one."

 

"Thanks."

 

He gets a good grip on the 3/4 and leans aside best he can so Boyd can out all his weight on twisting the other spanner.

 

"My Lord, who did these up?" Bible asks the tank’s ceiling like he’s thinking of hunting the unknown mechanic down and putting the fear of God into him.

 

The nut gives suddenly and they both tumble awkwardly, trying to catch themselves without falling on each other and end up a tangled mess on the floor.

 

"Well, it’s fucking loose now." Grady grouses as Bible grins at him. They shove at each other playfully, ain’t no gentle way to pull apart without elbowing and kneeing each other half a dozen times, may as well make a joke of it.

 

"You boys good?" Collier asks from somewhere outside, the amusement in his voice says he can see them and he finds their current position highly entertaining.

 

"Almost good as new, Top." Bible calls up, though he’s gotta know Don wasn’t talking about the repairs, his knee accidentally digging hard into Grady’s calf muscle.

 

"Motherfucker." Grady shoves at Boyd gently, the quarters too close for proper rough-housing.

 

"Sorry." The gunner sounds almost sincere. "Hand me that hose?"

 

Grady retrieves the new hose - avoiding Gordo’s dirty boots kicking out randomly close to his head - places it in Bible’s outstretched hand and gets a offhand _thanks_  in return. The driver’s legs are dangling down Grady’s hatch, he can hear the driver and the sergeant talking about routes and crossways and figures that they’re gonna want to be moving out soon. He almost tries to listen in - get a general idea of where the fuck they might end up at the end of the day - but decides he really don’t care that much.

 

"Need a hand?" He asks as he looks over Bible’s shoulder.

 

"I’m good." Bible murmurs, the hose seemingly fitting in easy for once, even though there’s no reason why it shouldn’t.

 

"Yell at me if you change your mind." Grady says, watching the gunner work for a moment and contemplating getting out for some fresh - perhaps cooler - air and a stretch. In the end he decides against it, settling for re-sorting his rounds, checking them again for any imperfections that might get them killed if he loads them.  It don’t take more than a moment for Boyd to be giving everything an extra tighten and knocking his knuckles against the flat metal wall.

 

"You wanna start her up?" He calls out, letting Collier know that he’s done.

 

Once they’re moving, every mile or so the turret turns slightly from side to side. Grady glares across at Bible with every jerk but the gunner’s attention is fully on his controls, checking for any abnormality or problem. And Grady knows he’s just gonna have to accept that Boyd’s gonna be fiddling with the traverse for the next however many miles until he’s convinced the hydraulics ain’t gonna crap out on them, so he settles for kicking at the gunner whenever he does it. Grinning meanly at him everytime Boyd’s eyes narrow at him; it passes the time as they travel to wherever the fuck they’re going.

 

  
They meet up with infantry a mile or so from the town they’re supposed to be clearing, but mortar starts falling almost the moment they hit the town’s edge.

 

After the longest time it goes real quiet, smoke from fire and exploded rounds has turned the day grey, visibility dropping to not far past the barrel of the tank. The sun is just a dull glowing circle in the sky that feels like it’s giving off the impression of light rather than actual light. They sit quiet, watching the outside through their scopes as Don tries to reconnect with their infantry.

 

"Finally, some fucking shade." Gordo blurts out and Red cackles beside him.

 

"You thinking we should burn down cities more often, Gordo?" Don asks as he opens his hatch, and cautiously rising up.

 

"Just an idea, Top." The driver answers, not sounding all that sorry.

 

"Charlie Company, this is Love 1-6, do you copy?" Don radios again, glaring angrily around the tank like he’s looking for someone to blame for the radio silence. "Are you fucking kidding me?! Radio’s dead. A-fucking-gain.”

 

"Might be theirs." Bible mumbles in the direction of his chest, not minding if Don hears him or not.

 

"I dont give a fuck." Collier says, fist curling like he wants to hit the box a couple of times on principle.

 

"It is what it is." Boyd says, tone lighter now he can see Don getting pissy.

 

"You see any sign of them out there, Top?" Red asks.

 

"Not a fucking thing," The sergeant says as he ducks down a moment to look at his crew, "Think we lost our infantry, Bible?"

 

"I think maybe they misplaced us, Top." Boyd answers in the same sincere tone he uses for Don’s serious questions, if it weren’t for the slight uplift of the corner of his mouth, Grady wouldn’t know they was joking around.

 

"How do you suppose someone might misplace thirty tonne of American tank, Corporal?" Though Grady can’t see Don’s face, he likes to imagine maybe he’s grinning at least.

 

"I suppose they might have decided them buildings maybe provided more cover than us."

 

"You think they were right?"

 

"I guess we’ll see soon enough."

 

Don’s legs twist as he looks around - all Grady can see is vague shapes in grey smoke fog - but maybe it’s clearer out, because he lets an impressed _God Damn_  - the sort that comes from witnessing man’s destructive nature and being more than a little irreverent about it.

 

"Yes sir." Eyes on the outside, Bible answers.

 

"All right, open up, gonna have to reconnect with out infantry."

 

"I’ll do it." Red volunteers, unhooking his comm and mike and climbing out his freshly opened hatch.

 

"I’mo get some air," Bible says, palms rubbing roughly over his face then pulling up his scarf to battle the smoky haze, and slips up and out. Grady pops his head out after him, spends a time trying to decide whether the suffocating smoke of outside was better or worse than the stuffiness of inside.

 

Bible’s just got settled when a figure appears out of the smoke; Don spins the .30 around fast enough to almost brain Grady with the barrel. But it’s one of their guys; all shot up and alone.

 

The kid is dying - ain’t no two ways about it - but he makes it to the relative cover of their tank, slumping against the tracks. Then Bible’s there - pushing up goggles and pulling down scarf - kneeling beside the dying man; comforting him and somehow convincing him that it’s all right, he’d be fine, that there was a happy ending in all this for them despite most of their red spilling on the ground around them.

 

Grady thinks sometimes Boyd could preach the devil saved if he’d had the inclination. But Boyd’s not here to save - just like none of them are - and the only thing he  _can_  do is try his best to ease a man’s passing.

 

"Get back up here!" Don sounds angry - though he ain’t, or rather he is but it ain’t at Boyd - scanning the smokey haze with the .30, ready for this moment of quiet to turn on them.

 

"Roger." Bible says, though he don’t seem in too much of a hurry to actually obey Don.

 

Red comes back with a Lieutenant who looks more soot than man, and soon there’s Allied planes dropping bombs not far - presumingly on the mortar squads. The town clears quickly after that, a handful of soldiers holed up in some quickly destroyed buildings and a sniper that takes out three GI’s before another puts a bazooka round in his nest. The sound of cheering soldiers is infectious and Grady’s already got his feet on the ground before Don can call him back.

 

"There’s a Tank Destroyer crew camping out a block from here." Bible informs Don, breaking from his conversation with the infantry’s chaplain.

 

"Red!" Wardaddy says, evil grin in place, slapping Red’s arm. "See if you can’t trade for a couple more rounds of AP."

 

"Ugh. You assholes are robbing me blind." The a-driver groans even as he goes for his stash.

 

"Don’t stray too far." Don says, eyeing Grady and Red with equal suspicion. "We ain’t staying long."

 

 

The droning of the planes is heard far too late, the sound masked by the rumblings of distant thunder and the overwhelming general noise of a company under next to no restrictions. The first bomb drops with an attention stealing boom, and is followed quickly by screams and shouting as men scramble for any available cover.

 

Grady don’t see what happens exactly, across the street as he is, in a mad dash to reach the tank before some blows him to bits. But one minute Bible’s seating on the lip of their hatch talking to the chaplain, the next they’re both tumbling off the tank. By the time - and it ain’t long, fear of death moves a man fast - Grady reaches Fury's side they’re both on the ground still as death.

 

He can hear Don hollering from inside, Grady can’t understand any of his words but he recognizes the tone of _I’m going to do something stupid if someone doesn’t_ _answer me right now_.

 

"I got it! Button up!" He yells as he slides down after Boyd, he don’t even know if Don understands him but he ain’t got time to fucking check. Instead he ignores the way the earth is shaking and hauls Bible by the jacket, dragging him ‘round front of Fury. A close hit showers shrapnel and dirt at them, Grady shuts his eyes and rolls Boyd under the tank best he can.

 

He scrambles under himself, pulling Bible further under, holding him close - if one of them goes, they both go - and ignores that Bible ain’t making no noise, ignores that he ain’t moving at all, ignores the growing wet patch on his coveralls where the back of Boyd’s head is resting. Just shuts his eyes and waits for it to be over.

 

He don’t hear Boyd’s groaning at first, just feels the rumble of it where his fist is pressed up against Bible’s chest. Grady’s arms tighten, afraid that maybe he imagined it. There’s still planes overhead, but the bombing has tapered off, it’s practically safe out here again.

 

Boyd moves suddenly; one minute Grady’s thinking maybe he _did_  imagine the moving, maybe it was a dead body in his arms, the next it feels like he’s got a cornered alley cat there instead.

 

"Bible! Bible! Boyd, it’s me!" He yells. "It’s Grady! Fuck’s sake, Bible!"

 

An elbow just about breaks his nose again before Boyd hears him proper.

 

"Grady?" He asks hesitantly.

 

"Yeah." He drawls out, trying to subtly get a guard up in case he states swinging again.

 

"The fuck are we?" Boyd sounds confused, and annoyed as fuck that he somehow don’t know where he is.

 

"What you don’t recognize the underskirt of your favorite lady?" Grady teases, happy that Bible’s at least awake. Awake and moving and talking.

 

Boyd groans, from pain or Grady’s shitty joke, then asks confused like, “Did I fall?”

 

Confused because tankmen don’t fucking fall their tanks. Trip? sure. Throw themselves off the fucking things? Occasionally. But fall? Not fucking often. Grady can guess what happened, the preaching cocksucker must have panicked and near on killed Boyd with that fear.

 

"Bible? Grady?!" Don starts up yelling as soon as the last bomb drops, an edge of panic in his tone that Grady ain’t never heard in someone yelling his name.

 

"Yeeah!" He hollers back in return, loud as he can over the noise of men screaming and shouting and buildings falling in on themselves.

 

"Bible?" This time it’s a question, not a call.

 

"He’s all right!" Grady yells back, hands tightening on the gunner as he groands, and asks him, "You all right?"

 

"You are very fucking loud." Bible groans, hand coming up to press against his own head like it aches something fierce.

 

"Oh, I’m sorry." Grady laughs at him, happy he’s talking clear like. "This war too loud for you?"

 

"Shut the fuck up." Boyd laugh-groans back.

 

 

 

They ain’t always as good as they pretend to be; sometimes they fuck up, plain and simple, stupid fuck ups.

 

Grady don’t know what the hell Bible was thinking; maybe he wasn’t, maybe he was thinking too much. But he kneels down beside a dying kraut, a chestful of can shot that Bible probably put there. One moment he’s beside him - head bowed, a prayer on his lips - the next the kraut’s moving - faster than the dying had any right to - with a knife thrusting up into Bible’s jacket.

 

" _Help, help!_ " The fucker’s still crying out even as he strikes.

 

Red shouts, and Grady reckons he must be yelling too, almost falling off the tank in his hurry to get down.

 

Punching down on the German’s face Bible tries to pull free, the knife pulls back and Grady’s running - they’re too tangled up for any of them to take a shot - and  _god fucking dammit_  he ain’t that close. The kraut strikes up again, catches him across the face, hard if the way Boyd falters after the hit is anything to go by. But Bible’s not out yet, he knocks the knife aside when it comes back for another strike, twisting the hilt until its in his hands and shoving it downwards before the kraut can counter.

 

He stands - gasping for breath - before dropping another hard stomp to the dead Kraut’s face, hands shaking - fear, adrenaline, both? - and then slipping back over into the mud.

 

"He _saved_  now?!" Grady yells in Bible’s ear as he hauls him out of the mud,

 

He wants to fucking punch the gunner himself - the way Bible’s looking he might just let him too - that, and the way Grady’s shaking all over like he wants to hit and hit and hit til he don’t feel nothing but ache, stills his hands. He settles for a hard shove, sending Boyd stumbling in Don’s direction.

 

" _WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!_ " Wardaddy yells, rounding on Boyd, and it’s not really much comfort that his anger comes from worry.

 

Bible says nothing, just spits blood and white - a tooth? - on the ground.

 

"Get over here."

 

"I’m fine." Bible mumbles as Don grabs him and roughly tilts up his head, gets a good look at his bloody mouth.

 

"If I have to put up with your goddamn mothering over every little scratch, you can fucking sit down and deal with this."

 

  
His jaw goes blue-purple and red then yellow and green and when he grins too widely there’s a hole where there used to be none. Bible don’t complain much though, even if it obviously pained him - Grady’s seen him eating careful and cautious like, afraid that the next bite was gonna send shooting pains through his jaw.

 

Bible don’t really apologise - not really - but by the time the swellings all gone there’s something more reserved in his manner, like he’s pulled himself further inwards just so he don’t accidentally do it again. Grady feels bad about that. Ain’t many that held their faith, not like Bible did - not when every moment was a test of survival and every new day brought some new horror to try and comprehend. Grady don’t know how he does it amongst the many who faltered. Sometimes he thinks Boyd don’t even know how he’s doing it.


	4. Europe pt.II

 Sometimes Grady just has to get away from Fury. So with Gordo glaring into a half empty bottle of wine and Red snoring under the tank Grady slides off the tank and down the street in hopes of finding some tail that ain’t too proper to share a moment alone with just him.

 

Boyd finds him halfway towards having a fight on the streets a couple hours later - don’t know how he finds him - theres GI’s scattered from one end of town to the other, and no one’s where they probably should be.

 

"Step off!" Bible’s shouting, his fist tightening on Grady’s jacket as he yanks them around so he’s standing between Grady and the asshole he’s trying to punch.

 

"Your friend's an asshole!" The soldier yells in Boyd’s face.

 

"I don’t care."

 

"He tried to-"

 

"I. Don’t. Care." Boyd grinds out, his grip not loosening as Grady makes an attempt at pulling free and giving the asshole a go even though he’s got friends closing in.

 

"Get him the fuck out of here!" Bible demands of the newcomers, before rounding on Grady. "And you, you stupid son of a bitch-"

 

"I didn’t do nothing." Grady lies.

 

"I thought you were looking for a lady."

 

"Well I found a fight instead."

 

"You shouldn’t be out alone." Boyd says; quiet and calm, matter of fact in the kind of way that really pisses Grady off.

 

"Why shouldn’t I?" Grady snaps back, choosing to be belligerent because he can.

 

"You know why."

 

"What? You want me to invite you next time?" Grady spits out.

 

"Grady." There’s a warning in Bible’s tone now, like he’s just about had it with Grady, but _fuck it_ Grady’s already had it with fucking everything, including his holier-than-thou gunner.

 

"No, I forget, fucking is beneath his lord’s fucking soldier. Maybe you want, next time, you can hold her fucking dainties while I -"

 

"Grady!"

 

"That what gets your fucking rocks off?"

 

"Grady."

 

"Fuck you! Telling me what not to do. Like you’re any better than me."

 

"I," Bible stumbles over his words, any other day Grady might feel something other than bitter pleasure at that, "Grady, I don’t-"

 

"The hell you don’t. You’re always wandering off!" Grady ain’t really yelling no more. "Or you’re fucking lost in your own goddamned mind."

 

"Grady-"

 

"Gonna get yourself killed long before any of us get it. Gonna leave us with what ever asshole takes your place."

 

"Grady." Bible sounds downright mournful now.

 

"I fucking hate you." He says, even though it’s the opposite of what he means.

 

"I know." Bible answers like he believes it.

 

"Don’t fucking die on me you asshole."

 

"You know I can’t control that Grady."

 

"Fuck." Grady swears at the sky. Bible’s hand grips his shoulder, shifting like maybe he’s thinking of pulling Grady in and hugging him.

 

But he won’t.

 

Bible don’t much touch anyone by choice any more, like he was saving what little he had left for the dead and dying.

 

Still, the gesture is nice.

 

His hand drops; shoulders giving a little shrug, a tentative smile appearing cautious-like.

 

"Hey, I didn’t volunteer to come find you neither."

 

"You the only one Top could trust to actually come back?" Grady snipes back with narrowed eyes, his anger seeping away.

 

"Roger that."

 

"You an asshole."

 

"Yes I am." Boyd don't sound all that sorry, but the corners of his mouth droop like maybe he's thinking he should be.

 

"The fuck you doing here anyway?"

 

"All the commander’s got called up for some big briefing."

 

"Shit, we finally invading Germany?"

 

"Looks like."

 

"I guess you’ll be needing your loader then."

 

"Sergeant told me to go find him and kick his ass for him."

 

Grady laughs, gets his arm around Bible’s neck before the gunner can get away.

 

"Aww, Mama Bible, come to kick my ass." He teases, poking at Boyd’s face as he tries to shove him off.

 

 

 

Wardadddy’s hollering mad when Grady and Bible get back to Fury, they can hear his shouting inside the tank long before they see anything.

 

Red’s camped out half underneath Fury, supposedly sleeping but there’s a unnatural stillness in the way he’s laying that says he’s well awake but ain’t stupid enough to broadcast it.

 

Gordo’s standing just aways from the front of the tank, looking for all the world like he’s about to pull a knife and go to town on their sergeant. Grady punches his shoulder as they walk up - the driver doesn’t react which is usually a good sign pointing towards him completely and utterly pissed. Bible inclines his head in the direction of all the noise Collier’s making; a question.

 

"Don’t fuckin’ know what the fuck his problem is," Gordo hisses, under the sounds of Don throwing shit around, grimacing angrily. "Came back from Command all mad as hell, started throwing shit like a fucking toddler.”

 

"Shiiiiit." Grady breathes out as a bottle comes flying out of the driver’s hatch. It smashes on cobblestone that’s already wet and covered in smashed glass.

 

Bible looks at him and Grady shakes his head; ain’t no way in hell he’s drawing this fire. He looks over at Gordo who just shrugs at them, if Top’s decided to shitty about Gordo’s drinking, him doing anything will most likely only stoke the flames.

 

His eyes flicker down to Red, then back at the tank.

 

Looking heavenward Bible shakes his head - like he’s praying for the Lord to have mercy on all their souls, but especially on his - and Grady is reminded that though the gunner had slid in seamlessly, though it seemed most times like he’d been with them since the beginning, he _was_  still just a kid in many ways; he didn’t know that they used to let Don burn himself out.

 

"I hate all of you." He says finally; giving a parting kick to the jacket Red’s using as a pillow, he sighs and climbs up Fury.

 

"Top?" He calls out like he’s not sure Collier’s in there.

 

A string of curses come in reply.

 

Bible’s eyes go heavenward again and this time Grady’s not sure he isn’t just rolling his eyes. He sighs again and disappears into the sherman.

 

It goes real quiet for a moment, then a voice raises then lowers back to a more normal level. Grady strains to hear something while trying to look like he really don’t give a fuck, but all he hears is the occasional half word - all of them know exactly how loud to be if they do or don’t want to be heard from inside that thing - and he figures whatever's being discussed ain’t much his business.

 

"What do you think happened?" Red asks quiet enough to not be heard from inside the tank; eyes still closed, still ‘asleep’.

 

"Man, I don’t give a fuck." Gordo pushes his palms into his eye sockets - tired, so fucking tired - and drops onto an ammo box that’s masquerading as a makeshift chair. “I just. Ugh. Fuck this, man. _Fuck. This_.”

 

Don climbs out of the tank like a child well schooled, eyes narrow, jaw flexing. For a moment he looks like he wants to say something, but instead he just kind of half gestures at all of them and stalks off.

 

"Don’t why he’s so sore at me for, _Grady’s_  the one that fucked off to find a Belgian whore."

 

"Hey, fuck you Gordo, I was finding me a lady."

 

"What the fuck would she do with you then?" Red’s laughter comes from under the tank.

 

"It ain’t you, Gordo." Bible says in the assured voice of a man who knows he’s right.

 

"Sure feels like it’s me."

 

"Red!" Bible looks tired as he gestures towards Don’s retreating back with a waving hand that means _go deal with that_  and Grady is just happy that it weren’t his name that Bible called.

 

Red grumbles under his breath as he gets up from his pretending to sleep, but he hurries after the sergeant with enough haste to catch him before goes too far - or stirs up too much trouble.

 

"I don’t like it," Bible says finally, and Grady figures he’s talking about both the sergeant’s raging and Gordo’s drinking habit.

 

Gordo looks at him like if he can’t get into it with Collier maybe he wants to start that fight with Bible instead; but his ire is silenced when Boyd produces a bottle.

 

"I don’t like it," he repeats holding it away for a moment and though it should by all rights sound like he’s judging, somehow it don’t.

 

"You sneaky dog-"

 

"Hey now,"

 

"You’ve been holding out on me, Boyd."

 

"I don’t know if it’s any good." For all his _I don’t like it’s_ he sounds awful apologetic about his lack of knowledge.

 

"Where did you get that from?" Grady asks and Gordo narrows his eyes and asks,

 

"How long you been hiding that?"

 

"The Lord provides." Bible answers in an even tone; which is exactly the sort of non answer that pisses them all off, and from the sly grin Boyd’s not bothering to hide he knows it.

 

"You’re a bastard."

 

"Just don’t let him see it." Bible’s sounding tired now. "The Lord only provides so much."

 

 

 

The winter that year is miserable.

 

Grady’s lost count of how many times he’s lost skin to the tank’s colder than cold metal. Something big’s going on in the background of that winter though Grady don’t see it. All he knows is he spends those freezing months - hungry and forgetting what it is to be warm - pushing krauts back and then losing any ground won whenever the fuckers countered.

 

Bible flinches everytime Don opens his hatch, trying to hold himself as still as possible because every movement brings a fresh wave of near unstoppable shivers, but his aim don’t suffer much and there ain't any of them can do to help anyhow so he suffers on in silence.

 

"I aim between the shakes," He tries to joke, but it’s less funny coming from between chattering teeth.

 

They don’t move much that winter; weathering hits, each offensive met with equal might - the same ground bled upon - over and over again.

 

Gordo spends more time sweet talking Fury’s frozen engine than actually driving much to his disgust and they all learn to hate Red’s ability to sleep no matter the place or temperature.

 

Bombs from planes and mortar drop from the sky seemingly at random, a moment of incoming sound warning them before the rain begins.

 

"BUTTON UP!" Don yells over the approaching drone of planes.

 

"Shit shit-" Gordo swears, his hatch coming down with a echoing _clang_.

 

"Is that us or them?" Red asks, eyes heavenward like he’ll be able to tell though he’s just staring at metal.

 

"Does it fucking matter?!" Grady swears

 

When the worst of winter comes to a close and the krauts stop countering - stop pushing - they finally move forward and out of the forests.

 

 

  
Night falls quickly, far too cold and dark sometimes. They end up too damned far out ahead of the line - _again_ , Grady is begining to think it might be a point of personal pride for Collier - and Top and Red ain’t come back yet from what was supposed to be a quick recce.

 

Bible’s already started his nervous routine of fixing up his scarf then shoving his hands in his jacket pockets before they creep out to mess with his collar again, staring out into the dark like he’s somehow gonna be able to see something.

 

A single gunshot rings out through the quiet - so fucking quiet - night and they all fucking straighten up.

 

"You hear that?" Boyd asks stupidly from where he’s perched up on lookout; but Grady can hear the fear in his voice, like he’s hoping that maybe somehow he had imagined the sound.

 

"Fuck." Grady spits into the dark, flipping his safety off.

 

"It was just one shot though, right?" Gordo asks defensively, like he’s already preparing to get angry if someone says the wrong thing right now.

 

"Don’t have to mean nothing." Boyd says, climbing down off the tank and double checking his tommy-gun. "Gordo, you good? Grady, come on."

 

Gordo looks as if he wants to say something - _be safe, be fucking careful_ \- as Grady climbs out to follow Boyd, but he just pulls his own grease-gun out and stays quiet.

 

Grady follows Boyd towards where the broken down barnhouse where they last saw Red and Collier heading, trying to keep the footfalls quiet on the crunching leaves. Boyd nods towards the door off its hinges, a question. Grady shrugs back; it’s dark as hell out here, they didn’t see where the others went exactly - the moonless sky hiding Fury from them even though they can’t be more than fifty feet from it’s tracks.

 

Bible’s head tilts sideways like he wants to have a conversation but can’t, then he nods mostly to himself. He lifts a hand to get Grady’s attention on it, then motions with it for him to stay, to wait, to watch his back.

 

Grady nods, gets to watch as Boyd slowly makes his way round the side of the barn; walking quieter - slower - now he’s on his own, ears no doubt straining for some sign to tell him what happened to their missing crew.

 

Grady don’t see what happens - visiblities for shit in the fucking gloom - all he hears is a series of grunts and a flash off movement as Boyd goes tumbling. He takes a moment to make sure nothing else is going to jump out at them, then he turns his full attention on Bible and whoever the fuck just jumped him.

 

"Hey you fucker!" Grady shouts, hoping to distract the motherfucker as he looks down his sights.

 

He can’t get a good shot, the two of them are scuffling too fucking close. Bible’s Thompson goes flying out of his grip but the German’s gun is quickly knocked aside also and then Boyd’s got his side arm out and pointed dead centre of the kraut’s skull.

 

"Where are they you son of a bitch?!" Boyd screams - his pistol pushing into the German’s face - wild and crazed like Grady’s never seen him, before shouting at the area around them. “Top?!”

 

"Christian, _ja_?" The German asks, shaking hands gesturing at Bible’s cross where it had been pulled free from beneath his shirt, then pointing at his own chest. " _Vater_ _unser im Himmel? Ja_?”

 

"Shut the fuck up!" Bible’s face twitches, emotions doing something awful to his expression, and he shoves the soldier away from him. "Red?!"

 

"Stay the fuck down!" Grady yells.

 

The German’s fucking terrified, he don’t want to die, but then again neither does Grady. He don’t want to die and he sure as shit don’t want Red and Don to be fucking dead either. Grady don’t know what Bible’s thinking, can’t see nothing familiar in the way he’s looking around for Top and Red, shoving the kraut around in front of him, in case he’s got friends out here.

 

Gunshots suddenly crack through the silence. Grady looks at Boyd and he hates to think that he looks anything like Bible does right now, but he feels a lot like maybe he does.

 

_scared, anxious, exhausted and fucking terrified_

 

The kraut must think his life expectancy just dropped to fucking zero because he leaps forwards, dashing ahead like he can outrun the bullet Bible puts in his back.

 

His hand reaches up at them as they get close; both of them looking in all directions, trying to figure out which way the shots had come from.

 

" _Bitte_." His bloody lips move almost silently. "Ple-"

 

Bible puts another bullet in him and moves past, his pace quickening as if the growing silence is a countdown.

 

They crash louder than they should through the shrubs and bushes, branches scratching at exposed skin and - _what the fuck were they doing so fucking far out_? - then Bible’s got his sidearm up, head cocked like he could hear something.

 

"What is it?"

 

"I don’t know, maybe nothing." Bible answers quietly, scanning the darkness trying to see or hear whatever got his attention in the first place. "I don’t know."

 

Coming face to face with the barrel of Red’s carbine is the sweetest fucking sight Grady’s seen in - he’s willing to say - forever. Bible’s staring down the barrel of a german gun in Don’s hands, his own pistol up and pointed at Collier like he can’t see whose holding the gun.

 

"Why the fuck didn’t you yell out, you assholes?" Grady says; can’t even find it in himself to fucking yell he’s that relieved.

 

Red looks to be limping some, but they’re both upright with the identical angry expressions that mean they’ve completely had it with everything but nothing’s broke in a way that’s unfixable.

 

"Fuck knows what they were doing out here." Don says not answering Grady’s question, but sounding annoyed. "Weren’t more than four."

 

"Five." Grady spits back, anger stoking up now the relief is leeching away.

 

Bible’s hand shakes when it puts his sidearm back away in it’s holster on his hip, but he don’t say nothing.

 

"Toldya one got away." Red snipes at Don as they walk past, heading back to Fury.

 

Boyd’s blinking non-stop, resolutely staring at the ground and not Don or Red who look hale and healthy and very much alive.

 

"You gonna fucking cry?" Grady asks, a little too mean maybe, but Boyd turns those wet eyes on him and _goddamn_  he didn’t know tear filled eyes could look steely.

 

They don’t say another word as they settle back into Fury for the night.

 

 

 

There’s minimal resistance crossing the border - no tanks anyhow - which Grady is fucking thankful for. Seemed like every week passed with more tales of mass tank casualities, and Grady thinks if he never sees a King Tiger again it’ll be too soon.

 

"YOU’RE CLEAR!" Grady hollers as Don directs Bible towards their closest target.

 

The turret traverses across smoothly towards the kraut machine gun team that’s embedded themselves into the hillside.

 

"ON THE WAY!" Bible yells toeing the trigger.

 

Nothing happens.

 

"Misfire! Misfire!" Bible yells. "Fuck! Fuck! You got it Grady?"

 

Grady swallows thickly but nods anyway, glancing around to make sure nothing is gonna be in his way when he goes to dump out what is hopefully not - but in all likelyhood could be - a live shell.

 

"It's all right, Grady, you got this." Boyd's voice is calm as he nods at Grady and Don yells for Peterson to start firing on their intended target.

 

The shell is warm in his hands - more likely from the hot barrel than from the shell itself - but it turns Grady’s insides to jelly, thinking about the round going off in the seconds it takes him to shove it outside.

 

"Holy fuck." He says as he closes the hatch and the shell is gone, gone, _gone_. He’s seen tanks blown up from the inside out - seen bodies go flying even as his brain failed to comprehend what he was seeing - and the idea of that makes his skin crawl.

 

"We lucky." Gordo says puffing a relieved sigh heavenwards.

 

  
They split from the main battalion at the border -  _be careful out there -_  Davis’ worried voice adds to Peterson’s quiet calm and Binkowski’s rough tone as they head off in a different direction. One of the commanders going their way laughs, while another wishes the same back in a small quiet voice.

 

"We’ll be fine, trust me," Don declares, enthusiastically aiming to ruffle Bible’s hair. "We got Saint Bible on our side."

 

"Ain’t no saint," Boyd grumbles into his jacket’s collar as he ducks away from Don’s hand.

 

 _Trust?_  Grady might throw up.

 

"We’re gonna win this one." Collier says; his mood uncharacteristically good, something that looks like a warm smile on his face and patting Grady’s shoulder fondly.

 

He says it with such conviction that Grady forgets this is the man that shit himself their first fight, or the man that lashed out when he was angry or upset.

 

Instead, Grady tries to imprint _right now_  into his memories. Because right now he believes Don can keep them all alive, right now he feels he might survive this hell, and he has a feeling that he’s gonna need to remember how he felt right now.

 

"Home stretch, boys!" Red yells as the tank smashes past the abandoned barricades and Gordo laughs in the rare delighted way he does when he gets to run over things that aren’t people and Grady _hopes_.

**Author's Note:**

> A quiet shout out to my canadian bros for not throwing me out in the snow when i spent the last three days going TANKS! 2ND ARMORED! 66TH REGIMENT! TANKS! DON? MORE LIKE DoNT! they deserved none of that, and were immensely encouraging in getting me to finally finish this.  
> & to my tumbros ( best-job-i-ever-had , boyd-bible , yumathepuma & blastababy ) who enthusiastically told me i wasnt the worst person to walk the earth


End file.
